


Family History Has a Tendency to Repeat Itself

by OnyxDay



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sorting (Harry Potter), Canon Rewrite, Gen, Gryffindor Draco Malfoy, Indian Character, Indian Harry Potter, Indian James Potter, Mentions of Sirius Black - Freeform, Vietnamese Character, Vietnamese Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-06 14:06:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5419865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxDay/pseuds/OnyxDay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Draco Malfoy is forced to share a compartment with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley on the train to Hogwarts their first year, history repeats itself. As the first Malfoy in Gryffindor his life seems to be oddly following the same course as his mother's cousin. Unable to stop himself from befriending Harry he finds himself taken along for the strange ride that is Harry Potter's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Change in the Journey from Platform Nine and Three Quarters

**Author's Note:**

> This begins in chapter six of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone/Philosopher's Stone. It starts right after Harry's bought all those sweets off the trolley on page 102 (right before he says "What are these?")  
> I do use parts of the book in here so pretty much everything that sounds familiar is entirely the work of J.K Rowling and I claim no ownership of it. I've left out parts of it just because I didn't want to copy the entire book word for word.  
> Just as a general warning so you're not caught off guard, this will be a Drarry fic as well as a Wolfstar fic. Thought you ought to know.

Just as Harry was reaching for a pack of something called Chocolate Frogs the door to their compartment slid open. The pale boy from Diagon Alley was standing in the entrance, his trunk at his feet and an Eagle owl in a cage in his hand.

"I've been kicked out of my compartment and this is the only one left with space, so I'll be joining you," said the boy, dragging his trunk in and storing it in one of the corners. He set his birdcage down next to Hedwig's and cleared a space next to Harry for him to sit down on.

Ron glared at the other boy and Harry looked between them, confused.

The blond boy extended his hand to Harry.

"Malfoy, Draco Malfoy," he introduced himself. Harry took the hand and shook it.

"Harry," he said. "Er, Potter," he added nervously. Draco's grey eyes went wide but otherwise, his face remained the same. Ron cleared his throat and Draco glanced over at him. His eyes swept over Ron and a sneer pulled at his lips.

"No need to ask who you are. My father told me all Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

Harry snatched his hand from Draco's grip and the other boy turned back to him.

"You shouldn't say that, you don't even know him," Harry told Draco, eyes narrowed.

Draco Malfoy didn't go red, but a pink tinge appeared in his pale cheeks.

"I'd apologize if I were you," he continued, more bravely than he felt because even though Draco was their size, he was far more intimidating.

"Malfoy's don't apologize," he sneered. "Especially not to filthy poor blood-traitors like Weasley."

Ron stood up, then Draco did, and then Harry stood between them.

"You'll soon find out that some wizarding families are better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there," Draco told Harry.

"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," he said coolly.

Draco went pink again.

"Listen, Draco, you're stuck in here with us, right?" asked Harry. Draco nodded slowly. "Then you should try to be nice, at least for the rest of the trip," he looked behind him at Ron. "And that means you too, Ron."

Both boys sent each other one last nasty look before sitting back down.

"What are these?" Harry asked Ron, holding up the pack of Chocolate Frogs he had been reaching for before Draco arrived. "They're not _really_ frogs are they?" he was starting to feel nothing would surprise him. Draco scoffed.

"No," said Ron. "But see what the card is. I'm missing Agrippa."

"What?"

"Oh, honestly Potter, don't you know anything? Chocolate Frogs have cards in them of famous Witches and Wizards," explained Draco, haughtily.

"Of course he wouldn't know Malfoy, he's been living with Muggles," snapped Ron. "Lot's of people collect the cards. I've got about five hundred cards, but I haven't got any Agrippa or Ptolemy."

Harry unwrapped his Chocolate Frog and picked up the card. It showed a man's face. He wore half-moon glasses, had a long, crooked nose, and flowing silver hair, beard, and mustache. Underneath the picture was the name Albus Dumbledore.

"So _this_ is Dumbledore!" said Harry.

"Don't tell me you'd never heard of Dumbledore!" said Ron. "Can I have a frog? Might get Agrippa - thanks -"

Harry turned his card over and read:

ALBUS DUMBLEDORE  
CURRENTLY HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS

Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling.

Harry turned the card back over and saw, to his astonishment, that Dumbledore's face had disappeared.

"He's gone!"

"You can't expect him to hand around all day, Potter," Draco rolled his eyes. "He'll be back though."

"Oh, I've got Morgana again and I've got about six of her... do you want it? You can start collecting."

Ron's eyes strayed to the pile of Chocolate Frogs waiting to be unwrapped. Harry noticed Draco's eyeing the pile of sweets as well.

"Help yourselves," said Harry. "But in, you know, the Muggle world, people just stay put in photos."

"Do they? What, they don't move at all?" Ron sounded amazed. " _Weird!_ "

"Muggles are quite strange," commented Draco, taking a bite out of a licorice wand.

Harry stared as Dumbledore sidled back into the picture on his card and gave him a small smile. Ron was more interested in eating the frogs than looking at the Famous Witches and Wizards cards and Draco mostly just glanced at them before deciding whether to keep them or not, but Harry couldn't keep his eyes off them. Soon he had not only Dumbledore and Morgana, but Hengist of Woodcroft, Alberic Grunnion, Circe, Paracelsus, and Merlin. He finally tore his eyes away from druidess Cliodna, who was scratching her nose, when Draco made a strangled noise that might have been a choked off laugh.

"I've got you!" he said, holding up a card and passing it over.

Sure enough, a baby version of Harry was blinking up at himself with his large green eyes. His lightning scar was a brighter red against his younger self's brown skin and was only barely covered by his black fringe.

He flipped the card over and read the back:

HARRY POTTER  
THE BOY WHO LIVED

Known by many as The Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter is the only known survivor of the Killing Curse and is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard You-Know-Who on October 31st, 1981 when he was only a year old. Harry Potter is the son of James Potter and Lily Potter née Evans, who were tragically killed by You-Know-Who the night he was defeated, leaving young Harry orphaned.

Harry swallowed and tried to ignore the tears pooling behind his eyes.

"Do my parents have cards?" he asked after a moment.

"Yeah, but they're really rare," answered Ron.

"I've got them," Draco announced. Harry looked over at him and caught his eyes before Draco turned to his trunk. "I suppose I could give them to you, if you'd like." He pulled out a large leather book and flipped toward the back. He pulled out two cards and handed them over. Harry looked down at the proffered cards them back up at Draco.

"Thank you," he said, voice choked with emotion as he took the cards from Draco.

"It's no problem. I didn't want them anyway."

" _Thank you_ ," he stressed, clutching the cards to his chest. This gave Draco pause and his disinterested mask slipped for a second. He smiled hesitantly at Harry, who smiled in gratitude back.

Harry looked down at his new cards and studied his parents' faces eagerly.

His mother was a kind looking redhead with the same startlingly green eyes that he saw in the mirror, though her pale, slightly freckled skin appeared a more natural pair to the color, unlike his own brown skin. Her hair just brushed her shoulders and as he watched she tucked a strand behind her ear. She looked over toward where he was holding his father's card and smiled. Harry found himself following her gaze.

Looking at his father was like looking in a mirror. They shared the same perpetually messy black hair, the same russet skin, the same nose, even the same smile. The only difference between the two was that his father lacked his scar and had brown eyes underneath his round glasses, not green.

Harry didn't bother reading the backs of the cards, content with just seeing their faces. His mother disappeared for a moment and when she came back she was holding his one-year-old self. His father crowded in next to her soon after, the family squeezing into the small frame provided by the card. Harry smiled sadly at the picture of what could have been.

"Would you like a bean?" Draco asked, snapping Harry away from his family. Harry realized he had been crying and swiftly wiped at his cheeks.

"Yeah, thanks," he said as he reached for the box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.

"You want to be careful with those," Ron warned Harry. "When they say every flavor, they _mean_ every flavor - you know, you get all the ordinary ones like chocolate and peppermint and marmalade, but then you can get spinach and liver and tripe. George reckons he had a booger-flavored one once."

Ron picked up a green bean, looked at it carefully and bit into a corner.

"Bleaaargh - see? Sprouts."

Harry, Ron, and Draco had a good time eating the Every Flavor Beans. Draco made a game of trying to guess whether the bean was a good flavor or a bad one. Harry got toast, coconut, baked bean, strawberry, curry, grass, coffee, sardine, and was even brave enough to nibble the end of a funny grey one Ron wouldn't touch, which turned out to be pepper.

By the time the world outside the train was woods and dark green hills they had finished most of the sweets and had told a round-faced boy they hadn't seen his toad.

"Honestly, I would've chucked a toad as soon as I could, I don't know why he's trying to find his," said Draco.

"I would've done the same. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can't talk," said Ron.

The rat was still snoozing in Ron's lap.

"He might have died and you wouldn't know the difference," said Ron in disgust.

Ron told them about a spell he tried to turn to rat yellow, and a bushy-haired black girl came in asking about the lost toad. After Ron's spell didn't work she babbled about getting her letter and, after Harry, Ron, and Draco introduced themselves, about the books Harry was in. She left after stating her desire to be in Gryffindor or Ravenclaw and advised them to change into their robes.

"Whatever House I'm in, I hope she's not in it," said Ron. He threw his wand back in his trunk. "Stupid spell - George gave it to me, bet he knew it was a dud."

"What House are your brothers in?" asked Harry.

"Gryffindor," said Ron. Gloom seemed to be settling on him again. "Mum and Dad were in it, too. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw _would_ be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin."

"That's the House Vol-, I mean, You-Know-Who was in?"

"That's not to say it's a bad House," said Draco. "My whole family has been in Slytherin, except a cousin on my mother's side. I'll be in Slytherin too, most likely."

"Yeah, but Slytherin's are evil, everyone knows that," said Ron. Draco regarded him with narrowed eyes.

"Merlin was a Slytherin, and everyone believes him to be one of the greatest wizards to ever live," he retorts. Ron goes nearly as red as his hair.

"Well, yeah, but-"

"And Gryffindor's aren't all good. Sirius Black was a Gryffindor and look what happened to him," said Draco.

"Who's Sirius Black?" asked Harry. Draco and Ron stopped and looked over at him, both suddenly uncomfortable. Scabbers seemed to have woken up at the sound of the name and was quivering in Ron's lap.

"He was a Death Eater, one of You-Know-Who's lot, that killed a bunch of Muggles and was sent to Azkaban - that's wizard prison," explained Ron.

"They say he was the Dark Lord's closest follower," continued Draco.

"And he was a Gryffindor?" asked Harry. The other two boys nodded. "I guess neither is all everyone says they are," said Harry, thinking of all those books he's in. "We'll stay friends, right? No matter what House we're in."

"Of course," said Ron.

"Well... as long as it's not Hufflepuff," said Draco. Ron snorted a laugh in agreement.

They continued the ride in comfortable conversation. Harry asked about Ron's eldest bothers and Ron and Draco explained Quidditch to him, pausing here and there to argue over teams, and Hermoine came back to tell them to change into their robes again. This time the three boys listened. Ron's were a bit short for him, you could see his sneakers underneath them. Draco's and Harry's were both brand new, though Draco's did seem slightly better than Harry's, despite them getting them in the same place.

A voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

Harry's stomach lurched with nerves and Ron, he saw, looked pale under his freckles. Only Draco looked unbothered, though Harry thought he must be just as nervous. They crammed their pockets with the last of the sweets and joined the crowd thronging the corridor

The train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their way toward the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform. Harry shivered in the cold night air. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and Harry heard a familiar voice: "Firs' years! Firs' years over here! All right there, Harry?"

Hagrid's big hairy face beamed over the sea of heads.

"C'mon, follow me - any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"

Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Harry thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much. Neville, the boy who kept losing his toad, sniffed once or twice.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

There was a loud "Oooooh!"

The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Hermione joined Harry, Ron, and Draco in their boat, much to Draco and Ron's displeasure.

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. "Right then - FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Harry could have sworn he saw a tentacle breech the surface and wave at him, though no one else seemed to have noticed. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and Beaverton the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered out on to rocks and pebbles.

"Oy, you there! Is this your toad?" said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them.

"Trevor!" Cried Neville blissfully, holding out his hands. Then they clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.

"Everyone here? You still got yer toad?"

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have nothing against Hufflepuffs, though there does seem to be an anti-Hufflepuff sentiment in Hogwarts students.


	2. The Sorting Hat's Decision

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Harry's first thought was that this was not someone to cross.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big you could have fit the whole of the Dursley's house in it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones in Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led up to the upper floors.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Harry could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right - the rest of the school must already be here - but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously. Draco stood close to Harry's side and as Harry looked around he could see a group of mean looking students staring at them curiously, that is, except for two hulking boys that were more interested in the sweets they were eating than anything else. The small brunette girl in front sneered at Harry and Draco, though her sneer was nowhere near as good as Draco's was.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have class with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend free time in your House common room.

"The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House had its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your House points, while any rule-breaking will lose House points," Professor McGonagall's sharp eyes seemed to glance over and linger on Harry as she said the words. "At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever House becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few moments in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on Ron's smudged noise. Harry nervously tried to flatten his hair.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait patiently."

She left the chamber. Harry swallowed. The dark-haired girl and her hulking lackeys walked up to Harry, Ron, and Draco.

"Malfoy, what are you doing talking to a Weasley?" she demanded. Draco went pink.

"None of your business, Pansy," he grumbled. Pansy pursed her lips.

"You should know better than to associate with filth like them," she said, her eyes roaming down to Ron's short robes. "Their poor might be contagious."

Ron went red and was almost about to say something before Harry beat him.

"Draco can choose his friends for himself, thank you very much. He doesn't need you trying to control him."

Pansy's eyes flickered over to him, "And who are you?"

"Harry Potter."

"Well, well, I suppose the rumors were true. The famous Harry Potter at Hogwarts! I suppose we should all bow down and give you our eternal thanks for vanquishing the Dark Lord," she laughed.

Harry felt the eyes of the others on his back now, and he tensed.

"Leave him alone, Pansy!" Draco snapped.

Pansy huffed and stormed away, her lackeys following. Harry swallowed again and glanced at the people staring at him, though they all turned away when he caught their gaze. He flicked his eyes to Draco and Ron.

"How exactly do they sort us into Houses?" he asked.

"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking," answered Ron.

"Don't be daft, Weasley! They wouldn't give us a test, we don't know anything yet," said Draco, rolling his eyes. "My father refused to say how they sorted us, but I am sure it involves some sort of magic."

Ron grew red at his words, but the rest of the gathered first years stopped their terrified whispering. Soon, though, they all worked themselves back up, muttering about what the Sorting Ceremony entailed. It seemed as though none of them knew what to expect. Hermione was whispering very fast about all the spells she'd learned and wondering which ones she might need. Harry tried hard not to listen to her. He'd never been so nervous, never, not even when he'd had to take a school report home to the Dursley's saying that he'd somehow turned his teacher's wig blue. He nearly flinched just at the memory. He kept his eyes fixed on the door. Any second now, Professor McGonagall would come back and lead him to his doom.

Then something happened that made him jump about a foot in the air - several people behind him screamed and Draco gripped his arm.

"What the - ?"

He gasped. So did the people around him. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance - "

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost - I say, what are you all doing here?"

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights has suddenly noticed the first years.

Nobody answered. Draco's hold on his arm got tighter.

"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"

A few people nodded mutely.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old House, you know."

Draco snorted quietly beside him and Harry nudged him in the ribs.

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."

Feeling oddly as though his legs had turned to lead, Harry got into line behind Ron, with Draco behind him, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Harry had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. The tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up there, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns interspersed with slightly darker shades in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. He heard Hermione whisper, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in _Hogwarts: A History._ "

"My father never told me how breathtaking the ceiling was," Draco whispered in awe.

It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open on to the heavens.

Harry quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool, she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Aunt Petunia wouldn't have let it in the house.

 _Maybe they had to try and get a rabbit out of it_ , Harry thought wildly, that seemed the sort of thing - noticing that everyone in the hall was now staring at the hat, he stared at it, too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth - and the hat began to sing:

 _"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_  
But don't judge on what you see,  
I'll eat myself if you can find  
A smarter hat than me.  
You can keep your bowlers black,  
Your top hats sleek and tall,  
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
And I can cap them all.  
There's nothing hidden in your head  
The Sorting Hat can't see,  
So try me on and I will tell you  
Where you ought to be.  
You might belong in Gryffindor,  
Where dwell the brave of heart,  
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry  
Set Gryffindors apart;  
You might belong in Hufflepuff,  
Where they are just and loyal,  
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true  
And unafraid of toil;  
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,  
If you've a ready mind,  
Where those of wit and learning,  
Will always find their kind;  
Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folk use any means  
To achieve their ends.  
So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
And don't get in a flap!  
You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

"So we've just got to try on a hat!" Ron whispered to Harry. "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."

"Your brothers make me glad I'm an only child, Weasley," Draco commented.

Harry smiled weakly. Yes, trying on the hat was a lot better than having to do a spell, but he did wish they could have tried it on without everyone watching. The hat seemed to be asking rather a lot; Harry didn't feel brave or quick-witted or any of it at the moment. If only the hat had mentioned a house for people who felt a bit queasy, that would have been the one for him.

"Friends regardless of House, right?" asked Harry, looking at his first two friends. They both nodded in agreement.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which feel right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment's pause -

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

As soon as the words left the hat, Hannah's robes changed. The left breast pocket gained a yellow and black patch and the insides of the sleeves turned the same bright yellow.

The table second from the left cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Harry saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

And so it went. "Bones, Susan" became a Hufflepuff. "Boot, Terry" was the first Ravenclaw and he went to sit at the second table from the right, his robes turning blue inside and a blue and bronze patch appearing on his breast pocket. "Brocklehurst, Mandy" joined him, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Harry could see Ron's twin brothers cat-calling. Their robes were red inside and their patches had gold.

"Bulstrode, Millicent" then became a Slytherin with green robes and a green and silver patch. Draco tensed beside him and Harry frowned at the unpleasant group at the table on the far right.

Harry was starting to feel definitely sick now. He remembered being picked for teams during gym at his old school. He had always been last to be chosen, not because he was no good, but because no one wanted Dudley to think they liked him.

"Finch-Fletchy, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Sometimes, Harry noticed, the hat shouted out the House at once, but at others, it took a little while to decide. "Finnegan, Seamus," the sandy-haired boy next to Ron in the line, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat. Ron groaned.

A horrible thought struck Harry, as horrible thoughts always do when you're very nervous. What if he wasn't chosen at all? What if he just sat there with the hat over his eyes for ages, until Professor McGonagall jerked it off his head and said there had obviously been a mistake and he'd better get back on the train?

When Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, was called he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR," Neville ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to "McDougal, Morag."

"Malfoy, Draco!"

Draco glanced at Harry and smiled.

"No matter what, yeah?" he said, walking backward. Harry nodded. "Hope I see you in Slytherin."

Draco swaggered forward and put on the hat. After a minute the hall began to whisper. After two the teachers began giving each other strange looks. Harry felt his stomach twist into knots after the third minute when he noticed Draco clenching the wooden stool in his hands.

Finally, after nearly five minutes, the hat shouted out "GRYFFINDOR!"

The entire Great Hall was silent. Draco stood slowly and set the hat back on the stool before slowly making his way toward the Gryffindor table. He looked nearly as pale as the ghosts and he seemed to tremble with every step. From behind him, Harry heard a man's voice say: "Well, this is very serious, isn't it Minerva." Harry turned and saw Dumbledore looking at Professor McGonagall with twinkling blue eyes. The Scottish professor tutted and shook her head. Harry turned back and saw that Draco had barely made it halfway to the table.

Suddenly someone from the Gryffindor table began clapping and soon everyone joined in, even some people from the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables, though the Slytherin table remained silent. Draco sped up and sat as far away from the rest of the House as possible.

There weren't many people left now.

"Moon"..., "Nott"..., "Parkinson, Pansy," was the dark haired girl that was glaring and Draco and him earlier who was sorted into Slytherin, then a pair of twins girls, "Patil" and "Patil"..., then "Perks, Sally-Anne"..., and then, at last -

"Potter, Harry!"

As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

" _Potter_ , did she say?"

" _The_ Harry Potter?"

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a look at him. Next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.

"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes - and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting... So where shall I put you?"

Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought, _Not Slytherin, not Slytherin_.

"Not Slytherin, eh?" said the small voice. "Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that - no? Well, if you're sure - better be GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry heard the hat shot the last word to the whole hall. He took off the hat and walked shaking toward the Gryffindor table. He was so relieved to have been chosen and not put in Slytherin, he hardly noticed that he was getting the loudest cheer yet. Percy the Prefect got up and shook his hand vigorously, while the twins yelled, "We got Potter! We got Potter!" Harry sat down across from Draco. The ghost with the ruff he'd seen earlier glided over and patted his arm, giving Harry the sudden, horrible feeling he'd just plunged it into a bucket of ice-cold water.

He could see the High Table properly now. At the end nearest to him sat Hagrid, who caught his eye and gave him the thumbs up. Harry grinned back. And there, in the center of the High Table, in a large gold chair, sat Albus Dumbledore. Harry recognized him at once from the card he's gotten out of the Chocolate Frog on the train. Dumbledore's silver hair was the only thing in the whole hall that shone as brightly as the ghosts. Harry spotted Professor Quirrell, too, the nervous young man from the Leaky Cauldron. He was looking very peculiar in a large purple turban.

And now there were only four people left to be sorted. "Thomas, Dean," a black boy even taller than Ron, joined Harry and Draco at the Gryffindor table, sitting on Draco's left. "Turpin, Lisa," became a Ravenclaw and then it was Ron's turn. He was pale green by now. Harry crossed his fingers under the table, though it was unnecessary for as soon as the hat touched Ron's red hair it had shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry clapped loudly with the rest as Ron collapsed down into the chair on his left.

"Well done, Ron, excellent," said Percy Weasley pompously across Neville as "Zabini, Blaise," was made a Slytherin. Draco flinched. Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.

Harry looked down at his empty gold plate. He had only just realized how hungry he was. The pumpkin pasties seemed ages ago.

Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you!"

He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Harry didn't know whether to laugh or not.

"Is he - a bit mad?" he asked no one in particular.

"Mad?" said Percy Weasley airily. "He's a genius! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Harry?"

Harry's mouth fell open. The dishes in front of him were now piled with food. He had never seen so much food on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, curries of all kinds, Tandoori chicken, naan bread, dishes he only recognized through pictures he had found on Indian cuisine at his school's library, strange soup with meatballs in it, packages that seem to be wrapped in leaves, several tofu dishes, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, chips, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some reason, peppermint humbugs.

The Dursleys rarely gave Harry enough to eat, and certainly never anything Indian. Had there ever been anything Harry had shown even the slightest of interest in eating, Dudley had always taken it, even if it made him sick. Harry piled his plate with generous helpings of anything he found appetizing, even taking one of the leaf packages when he discovered they were filled with rice. It was all delicious. Harry reveled at the new spices that the Dursley's would have never let near their bland foods.

Draco, he noticed, had only small portions of the under-seasoned English food on his plate, though he was eyeing the strange soup and noodle dishes. Harry nudged them over toward Draco's side of the table. The blond looked up at him with wide eyes.

"Go on, help yourself," said Harry, nodding at the dishes. Draco hesitantly portioned them onto his plate and took a bite. He smiled widely.

"It's better than Mother makes it!" he proclaimed. Draco quickly unloaded his unappetizing English food onto Ron, who happily accepted it, and instead piled his plate with the other strange dishes. He even took a bowl of soup.

"What is it?" asked Harry.

"Bún bò Huế," he pointed to the soup. "Cơm tấm," he pointed to a rice dish. "Gỏi cuốn," he pointed to the summer rolls. "They're Vietnamese."

"You're Vietnamese? My primary school teacher was half-Vietnamese," Dean commented from Draco's left.

"Only a quarter. My mother was half but my father is English. We used to go to Great Aunt Walburga's house to celebrate Tet. Father didn't like it, so mother and I went alone. Mother wanted me to be aware of my ancestry," said Draco.

"Wish I could've had someone to teach me about being Indian," Harry said. "Sounds like that would have been fun."

His new housemates went silent around him, none of them really knowing how to respond to the reminder that Harry was an orphan.

The ghost in the ruff glided over to them looking rather miffed from a conversation he had just been having with Hermione and the Weasley twins.

"So - new Gryffindors! I must say there hasn't been a Sorting this exciting since Sirius Black came to Hogwarts! Dreadful thing he did to his poor friends, especially that nice Potter boy, though I must say I did have my suspicions of him right from the start. I mean, a Black in Gryffindor? Unheard of!" the ghost looked around spotted Draco staring down at his cơm tấm. Then his ghostly eyes flickered over to Harry and he seemed to grow impossibly paler. "Er, well, I don't think I've introduced myself; my name is Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington. I do hope you're going to help us win the House Championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone this long without winning. Slytherins have got the Cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable - he's the Slytherin ghost."

Harry looked over at the Slytherin table and saw a horrible ghost sitting there, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood. He was sitting right next to the Parkinson girl who, Harry noted, didn't look pleased with the seating arrangements.

"How did he get covered in blood?" asked Seamus with great interest.

"I've never asked," said Sir Nicholas delicately.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavor you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs, small doughnut-type things, a dark jelly-like dish, rice balls floating in something, something that looked a bit like peanut brittle with a lot more nuts, jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding...

As Harry helped himself to the doughnut-type things and a scoop of ice cream that Draco informed him was cardamom flavored, the talk turned to their families.

"I'm half-and-half," said Seamus. "Me dad's a Muggle, mam's a witch. Bit of a nasty shock for him when he found out."

The others laughed, but Draco looked uncomfortable.

"What about you, Neville?" said Ron.

"Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," said Neville, "but the family thought I was all-Muggle for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me - he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned - but nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Aunt Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced - all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here - they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad."

"That's terrible!" Dean said. "Your Great Uncle Alfie nearly killed you!"

"What about you, Dean?" Seamus asked.

"Muggleborn. Mum and Dad were so relieved when the letter came and McGonagall made her visit. I was doing magic for a while, making my pictures move and all that, and they thought they were going insane."

"McGonagall visited?" asked Harry. "She didn't come for me."

"You're not Muggleborn, though," said Draco.

"Might as well been," said Harry. "My aunt and uncle wouldn't even let Dudley read books with magic in them."

Harry looked away from the looks his housemates were giving him and turned to the High Table. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore intensely, though the older wizard just smiled and nodded a few times, eating his dessert. Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.

It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's turban straight into Harry's eyes - and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead.

"Ouch!" Harry clapped a hand to his head.

"What happened?" asked Draco.

"N-nothing."

The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling Harry had gotten from the teacher's look - a feeling that he didn't like Harry at all.

"Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" he asked Draco. The blond craned his neck and followed Harry's gaze.

"You mean Sev- er, Professor Snape?"

"Yeah, you know him?"

"He's my godfather. He's the Potions professor and Head of Slytherin," said Draco.

Harry watched Snape for a while, but Snape didn't look at him again.

At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.

"Ahem - just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not which to die a very painful death."

Harry laughed, but he was one of the few who did.

"He's not serious?" he muttered to Ron.

"Must be," said Ron, shrugging. "Percy might tell us why later, surely he told the Prefects."

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Harry noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he were trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

And the school bellowed:

" _Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,_  
Teach us something please,  
Whether we be old and bald  
Or young with scabby knees,  
Our heads could do with filling  
With some interesting stuff,  
For now they're bare and full of air,  
Dead flies and bits of fluff,  
So teach us things worth knowing,  
Bring back what we've forgot,  
Just do your best, we'll do the rest,  
And learn until our brains all rot."

Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped the loudest.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

The Gryffindor first years followed Percy through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. Harry's legs were like lead again, but only because he was so tired and full of more food than he's probably ever eaten at once. He was too sleepy even to be surprised that the people in the portraits along the corridors whispered and pointed as they passed, or that twice Percy led them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. They climbed more staircases, yawning and dragging their feet, and Harry was just wondering how much farther they had to go when they came to a sudden halt.

A bundle of walking sticks was floating in midair ahead of them, and as Percy took a step toward them they started throwing themselves at him.

"Peeves," Percy whispered to the first years. "A poltergeist." He raised his voice, "Peeves - show yourself."

A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered.

"Do you want me to go get the Bloody Baron?"

There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.

"Oooooooh!" he said, with an evil cackle. "Ickle Firsties! What fun!"

He swooped suddenly at them. They all ducked.

"Go away Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!" barked Percy.

Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished, dropping the walking sticks on Neville's head. They heard him zooming away, rattling coats of armor as he passed.

"You want to watch out for Peeves," said Percy, as they set off again. "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him, he won't even listen to us prefects. Here we are."

At the end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress.

"Password?" she said.

"Caput Draconis," said Percy, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scrambled through it - Neville needed a leg up - and found themselves in the Gryffindor common room, a cozy, round room full of squashy armchairs.

Percy directed the girls through one door to their dormitory and the boys through another. At the top of the spiral staircase - they were obviously in one of the towers - they found their beds at last: four four-posters hung with deep red, velvet curtains. Dean, Neville, and Seamus found their trunks in the room one floor down, but Harry, Ron, and Draco had to keep going up until they had found theirs. Their trunks had already been brought up. Too tired to talk much, they pulled on their pajamas and fell into bed. Ron took the bed closest to the door, Harry next to him, Draco the one next to him, and they left the bed closest to the bathroom empty.

"Great food, isn't it?" Ron muttered to Harry through the hangings. "Get _off_ , Scabbers! He's chewing through my sheets."

Harry was going to ask Ron if he had any of the treacle tarts, but the redhead had already fallen asleep.

"Draco?" whispered Harry, turning to address the curtains of the other bed.

He got no response, so he thought Draco had already fallen asleep.

Perhaps Harry had eaten a bit too much because he had a very strange dream. He was wearing Professor Quirrell's turban, which kept talking to him, telling him to transfer to Slytherin at once, because it was his destiny. Harry told the turban he didn't want to be in Slytherin: it got heavier and heavier; he tried to pull it off but it tightened painfully - and there was Parkinson, laughing at him as he struggled with it - then Parkinson turned into the hook-nosed teacher, Snape, whose laugh became high and cold - there was a burst of green light and Harry woke, sweating and shaking.

He rolled over and fell asleep again, and when he woke the next day he didn't remember the dream at all.


	3. The Potions Master's Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay in updates! Holidays and school kept me busy, so I couldn't update as soon as I wanted!
> 
> This chapter has scenes from the second book because I felt that Harry's reaction to Howlers would be the same, even if it happened a year earlier.
> 
> I might not be able to update very soon because I have Midterms coming up, along with a lot of other work, and the next chapter will not be taken from the books.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy! Hopefully the next chapter will be ready soon,but I can't make any promises!

"There, look."

"Where?"

"Next to the tall kid with the red hair."

"Wearing the glasses?"

"Isn't that Draco Malfoy with him?"

"Did you see his face?"

"Did you see his scar?"

Whispers followed Harry from the moment he left his dormitory the next day. People lining up outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at him, or doubled back to pass him in the corridors again, staring. Harry wished they wouldn't because he was trying to concentrate on finding his way to classes.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid wall just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where anything was because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and Harry was sure the coats of armor could walk.

The ghosts didn't help either. It was always a nasty shock when one of them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. Nearly Headless Nick, as he was apparently sometimes called, was always happy to point new Gryffindors in the right direction, but Peeves the Poltergeist was worth two locked doors and a trick staircase if you met him when you were late for class. He would drop wastepaper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet, pelt you with pits of chalk, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab your nose, and screech, "GOT YOUR CONK!"

Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. Harry, Ron, and Draco managed to get on the wrong side of him on their very first morning. Filch found them trying to force their way through a door that unluckily turned out to be the entrance to the out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor. He wouldn't believe they were lost, was sure they were trying to break into it on purpose, and was threatening to lock them in the dungeons when they were rescued by Professor Quirrell, who was passing.

Filch owned a cat called Mrs. Norris, a scrawny, dust-colored creature with bulging, lamplike eyes just like Filch's. She patrolled the corridors alone. Break a rule in front of here, put just one toe out of line, and she'd whisk off for Filch who'd appear, wheezing, two seconds later. Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than anyone (except perhaps the Weasley twins) and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and it was the dearest ambition of many to give Mrs. Norris a good kick.

And then, once you had managed to find them, there were the classes themselves. There was a lot more to magic, as Harry quickly found out, than waving your wand and saying a few funny words.

They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Wednesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets. Three times a week they went out to the greenhouse behind the castle to study Herbology, with a dumpy little witch called Professor Sprout, where they learned how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi, and found out what they were used for.

Easily the most boring class was History of Magic, which was the only one taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff-room fire and got up the next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on and on while they scribbled down names and dates and got Emeric the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up.

Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of their first class he took the roll call, and when he got to Harry's name he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight.

Professor McGonagall was again different. Harry had been quite right to think she wasn't a teacher to cross. Strict and clever, she gave them a talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class will have to leave and not come back. You have been warned."

Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very impressed and couldn't wait to get started, but soon realized they weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time. After taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, only Hermione Granger had made any difference to her match; Professor McGonagall showed the class how it had gone all silver and pointy and gave Hermione a rare smile.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told them, was given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren't sure they believed this story. For one thing, when Seamus Finnigan asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather; for another they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, and the Weasley twins insisted that is was stuffed full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went.

Harry was very relieved to find that he wasn't miles behind everyone else. Lots of people had come from Muggle families and, like him, hadn't had any idea that they were witches and wizards. There was so much to learn that even people like Ron and Draco didn't have much of a head start.

Friday was an important day for the three Gryffindor boys. They finally managed to find their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost once.

"What have we got today?" Harry asked Ron as he poured sugar on his porridge.

"Double Potions with the Slytherins," said Ron. Draco winced and ducked his head.

"Professor Snape is Head of Slytherin House. He tends to favor his House and hates Gryffindor," said Draco. He looked over and caught Harry's eye. "You did the reading like I told you, right?"

"You were there when I did it, Draco."

Just then, the mail arrived. Harry had gotten used to this by now, but it had given him a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about a hundred owls had suddenly stemmed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners and dropping letters and packages onto their laps.

Hedwig hasn't brought Harry anything yet. She sometimes flew in to nibble on his ear and have a bit of toast before going off to sleep in the owlery with the other school owls. This morning, however, she fluttered down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and dropped a note onto Harry's plate. Harry tore it open at once. It said, in a very untidy scrawl:

 _Dear Harry,_  
_I know you get Friday afternoons off, so should you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig._  
_Hagrid_

Harry borrowed Ron's quill, scribbled _Yes, please, see you later_ on the back of the note, and sent Hedwig off again.

Harry turned back to his friends with a smile, only to find Draco staring up toward the ceiling. Harry turned to look where Draco's gaze was directed and saw a large Eagle Owl flying overhead. It dropped a red envelope on the plate in front of Draco and flew back out the window with barely a pause.

Draco stared down at the letter and swallowed heavily. Ron was looking at it as though he expected it to explode.

"What's that?" asked Harry.

"That's a Howler," said Ron faintly.

"What's a Howler?" Harry asked, without answer.

Harry and Ron watched as Draco hesitantly reached for the slightly smoking envelope. His hands shook as he fumbled with the opening, and the longer it took for him to open it, the more it smoked. Ron shoved his fingers into his ears the moment Draco ripped open the envelope, and Harry understood why a split second later. He thought for a moment it _had_ exploded; a roar of sound filled the huge hall, shaking dust from the ceiling.

"-DARE YOU CALL YOURSELF OUR SON? YOU ARE NOTHING BUT A DISGRACE! HOW COULD YOU SULLY THE MALFOY NAME IN SUCH A WAY-"

What one could only assume was Mr. Malfoy's voice yelled, a hundred times louder than what should be possible. It made the plates and spoons rattle on the tables and echoed deafeningly off the stone walls. People throughout the hall were swiveling around to see who had received the Howler, though it seemed obvious from the message being broadcast to the whole school. Draco steadily grew pinker and pinker as the message went on.

"-ABSOLUTELY DISGRACEFUL! AND TO THINK I HAD TO LEARN OF YOUR BETRAYAL FROM NOTT! THE EMBARRASSMENT YOU HAVE CAUSED YOUR MOTHER AND I WITH THIS FOOLISHNESS! YOUR POOR MOTHER HAS LOCKED HERSELF AWAY IN SHAME! SHE BELIEVES YOUR ABHORRENT BEHAVIOR IS HER FAULT AND NOT ENTIRELY YOUR DOING! YOU WILL CONVINCE DUMBLEDORE TO PUT YOU IN SLYTHERIN WHERE YOU BELONG! I WILL NOT TOLERATE A GRYFFINDOR AS A SON!"

A ringing silence fell. The red envelope, which had dropped from Draco's hand, burst into flames and curled into ashes. Harry and Ron sat stunned, as though a tidal wave had just passed over them. Draco stared down at the small pile of ash. A few laughs carried over from the Slytherin table, steadily growing louder.

Harry stood and turned toward the green table. Ron stood beside him and they took a step forward, only to stumble back. Draco's hands gripped their sleeves tightly.

"Don't."

Harry and Ron sat back down slowly, though they kept throwing dirty looks over their shoulders at the Slytherins.

It was lucky Harry had tea with Hagrid to look forward to because the Potions lesson turned out to be the worst thing that had happened to him so far. Other than his parents being murdered, of course.

At the start of term banquet, Harry had gotten the idea that Professor Snape disliked him. By the end of the first Potions lesson, he knew he'd been wrong. Snape didn't dislike Harry - he _hated_ him.

Potions lessons took place down one of the dungeons. It was colder here than up in the main castle, and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

Snape, like Flitwick, started class by taking roll. He sneered when he called Draco's name and, like Flitwick, paused at Harry's name.

"Ah, yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new - _celebrity_."

Parkinson and her friend Crabbe and Goyle, as Draco informed him, sniggered behind their hands. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they had none of Hagrid's warmth. They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word - like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without any effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a batch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence followed this little speech. Harry and Ron exchanged looks with raised eyebrows and when Harry glanced at Draco the pale boy smirked and rolled his eyes. Hermione Granger was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to start proving that she wasn't a dunderhead.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

 _Powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?_ Harry glanced at Draco, who raised his eyebrows and nodded at him; Hermione's hand had shot into the air.

"Er, is it the Draught of Living Death, sir?" said Harry.

Snape's lips pursed. Hermione's hand sank back to her desk.

"Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Hermione's hand rocketed back into the air, stretched as high into the air as it would go without her leaving her seat, but Harry knew what a bezoar was. He remembered Draco explaining it to him last night as they studied.

"A goat's stomach, sir."

Snape frowned further and his eyes narrowed. Hermione huffed as she lowered her hand again.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

At this, Hermione stood up, her hand stretched toward the dungeon ceiling.

"There isn't one, sir," Harry said confidently. "It's the same plant, sir, which I'm sure Hermione could have told you if you had tried her."

A few laughed; Harry caught Seamus's eye, and Seamus winked. Snape, however, was not pleased.

"Sit down," he snapped at Hermione. "For your information, Potter, you are correct. Asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are indeed the same plant, which also goes by the name aconite. Well, why aren't you all copying that down?"

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter."

Things didn't improve for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continued. Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Zabini, whom he seemed to like. Draco frowned down into the potion he and Harry were brewing, which was ignored by Snape despite the textbook perfect way it was being brewed. Harry was taking the cauldron off the fire when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus's cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Seamus. Then he rounded on Harry and Draco, who had been working next to Neville.

"You - Potter - why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."

This was so unfair that Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Ron kicked him from where he was standing behind him at his and Dean's cauldron.

"Don't push it," he muttered, "I've heard Snape can turn very nasty."

"And you," Snape snapped, turning toward Draco, "I would've thought a Malfoy would know better. But then, what should I have expected from a blood-traitor like yourself? No better than that filthy cousin of yours. Another point from Gryffindor."

Draco remained silent, though his jaw was tight and his hands were curled into white-knuckled fists.

As they climbed the steps out of the dungeon gown an hour later, Harry's mind was racing and his spirits were low. He'd lost two points for Gryffindor in his very first week - _why_ did Snape hate him so much? Who exactly _was_ Draco's cousin?

"Cheer up," said Ron, "Snape's always taking points off Fred and George. Can I come and meet Hagrid with you?"

"Yeah, all right. Draco, do you want to come with?"

Draco curled his lips at the mention of the large man, some prejudice left over from his family. He was opening his mouth to refuse when a group of laughing first year Slytherins bumped into them. His shoulders deflated and the sneer fell off his face. He sighed and nodded his head.

At five to three they left the castle and made their way across the grounds. Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the forbidden forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door.

When Harry knocked on the door they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks that made Draco jump. Then Hagrid's voice rang out, saying, " _Back_ , Fang - _back_."

Hagrid's big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open.

"Hold on," he said. " _Back_ , Fang."

He let them in, struggling to keep hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound.

There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded straight at Ron and started licking his ears while Draco looked on in disgust. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked.

"This is Ron," Harry told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate.

"Another Weasley, eh?," said Hagrid, glancing at Ron's freckles. "I spent half me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the forest."

"And this is Draco," Harry continued, looking over at the blonde boy.

"Lucius Malfoy's son?" asked Hagrid, frowning. Draco jutted his chin forward.

"Not anymore. Lucius Malfoy won't have a Gryffindor as a son," he muttered. Hagrid's face softened.

"Oh, it'll be alright! 'Specially with Harry an' Ron here with yeh! Why, Siri-" Hagrid cut himself off and his face clouded over. "Well, it's happened before, an' they got through it with their friends, so don't yeh worry!" he said as he offered them the plate of rock cakes.

The rock cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins that almost broke their teeth, but the boys pretended to be enjoying them as they told Hagrid all about their first lessons. Fang rested his head on Harry's knee and drooled all over his robes.

The trio of boys were delighted to hear Hagrid call Filch "that old git."

"An' as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I'd like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, follows me everywhere? Can't get rid of her - Filch puts her up to it."

Harry told Hagrid about Snape's lesson. Hagrid, like Ron, told Harry not to worry about it, that Snape liked hardly any of the students.

"But he seems to really _hate_ me."

"Rubbish!" said Hagrid. "Why would he?"

Yet Harry couldn't help thinking that Hagrid didn't quite meet his eyes when he said that.

"How's yer brother Charlie?" Hagrid asked Ron. "I liked him a lot - great with animals."

Harry wondered if Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose. While the others discussed Ron's brother's work with dragons, Harry picked up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cozy. It was a cutting from the _Daily Prophet_ :

**GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST**

Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.  
Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied that same day.  
"But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.

Harry remembered Ron telling him on the train that someone had tried to rob Gringotts, but Ron hadn't mentioned the date.

"Hagrid!" said Harry, "that Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might've been happening while we were there!"

There was no doubt about it, Hagrid definitely didn't meet Harry's eyes this time. He grunted and offered him another rock cake. Harry read the story again. _The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied earlier that same day_. Hagrid had emptied vault seven hundred and thirteen, if you could call it emptying, tracking out that grubby little package. Had that been what the thieves were looking for?

As Harry, Ron, and Draco walked back to the castle for dinner, their pockets weighed down with rock cakes they'd been too polite to refuse, Harry thought that none of the lessons he'd had so far had given him as much to think about as tea with Hagrid. Had Hagrid collected that package just in time? Where was it now? And did Hagrid know something about Snape that he didn't want to tell Harry?


	4. Conversations in the Tower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God I am so sorry. I know I said it would be a while between updates but I swear I had no idea it would take so long.
> 
> Midterms kicked my ass so I couldn't really write. Then I had to write all of this off the top of my head, which always means it takes me forever. On top of that for some reason, this scene just didn't want to go the way I wanted so I've had to rewrite it about fifty thousand times and even then I'm not super happy about it. And finally, I had a shit ton of projects given to me by my teachers ON TOP OF having to do work on my Graduation Project, which if I don't do well on it I won't be able to graduate.
> 
> So I'm really sorry about how long it's taken to get this chapter out. Also sorry it's so short.

Harry was still awake long after the rest of the castle had fallen asleep that night. His mind couldn't seem to stop working. He thought about his classes, and Professor Snape, and the break-in at Gringotts, and Draco Malfoy. At that moment, Draco Malfoy was the most pressing thought in his mind. Perhaps it was because he could hear the sounds of someone muffling their tears from his bed. He turned onto his side so he was facing Draco's bed. Both of their curtains were open and Harry could almost make out a fuzzy lump on his bed that might have been the pale-haired boy.

"Draco? Are you awake?" Harry whispered. He wasn't sure if the other boy could hear him over the sounds of Ron's snores.

"What?" hissed Draco. His voice was congested with the tears he had been shedding.

Harry didn't really know what to say. He hadn't thought this far ahead.

"Did you want something Harry?" asked Draco, his voice still soft so he wouldn't wake up Ron. Harry thought they could shout at the tops of their lungs and not wake up Ron.

"No. Er, not really. I just couldn't sleep," Harry explained weakly. He watched Draco's still form and berated himself for bothering his friend. He turned away from Draco and stared instead at Ron's bed, though the view wasn't that interesting due to Ron's closed curtains.

Someone crawled onto his bed and Harry jumped in surprise before he realized it was Draco. It was hard to see him in the dark, but his nearly white hair practically shone in the dim light of the waxing crescent moon.

Harry shifted over and sat up, reaching blindly for his glasses on his bedside table. He slid them on and the few things he could see focused. Draco reached over and closed the curtain between them and Ron, then tugged the one on the other side closed as well. Harry's bed was shrouded in darkness immediately.

" _Lumos_ ," Draco whispered and the tip of his wand lit up with blue light. Harry hadn't even realized he brought his wand with him.

"Professor Quirrell hasn't taught us that spell yet," he said.

"I was raised with magic, Harry. My parents made sure I knew _something_ before they sent me off."

Harry said nothing in response, simply stared at Draco in the wand's pale light. The whites of his eyes were rimmed with red and slightly puffy. Harry didn't comment on it.

"Well?" Draco asked, one brow raised. Harry looked down and then at Draco's wand.

"What was it like being raised by wizards?" Harry asked. Draco looked away and the light on his wand wavered slightly.

"I suppose it was fairly normal," Draco shrugged. "What was it like being raised by Muggles?"

Harry thought of his cupboard. He thought of the Dursley's calling him a freak. He thought of Dudley's old clothes. He thought of the neighbors that sneered at him or praised the Dursley's for taking in the 'poor little orphan' despite his brown skin.

"Fairly normal."

The two boys sat in silence, contemplating the lies they just told each other. Neither called the other out on them, of course.

"Why'd it take so long for you to be Sorted?" Harry asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Why did you take so long?" Draco asked back.

"I asked you first," said Harry. Draco frowned at him.

"I'll answer if you do," he finally decided.

"Alright. You first."

Draco sighed and looked away.

"It's called a Hat Stall, when the Hat takes a while like that. It happens when the Hat can't decide where to put you, when it's stuck between two options," Draco looked down and fiddled with his wand, the light flickering slightly. "The Hat knew exactly where to put me as soon as I put it on."

"Did it want to put you in Slytherin?" Harry asked. Draco's head snapped up and he glared at him.

"No. And don't interrupt," he snapped. "The Hat wanted to put me in Gryffindor. But I argued against it. I told it I was a Slytherin, through and through, but the Hat didn't listen to me. It said 'my true heart belonged in Gryffindor'," Draco sneered at the words and shrugged. "That's all. Now, what about you?"

Harry chewed on his lip in thought, deciding how to explain his experience with the Hat.

"Well, uhm, the Hat wasn't sure where to put me at first, then it said I would do well in Slytherin," he shrugs. "I chose Gryffindor."

"Of course you did," Draco sneered. Harry frowned at him and crossed his arms in front of him.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demands.

"Perfect Potter, the Boy Who Lived, of course, he would choose to be in Gryffindor with all the other brave little heroes," Draco scoffed with derision.

"You're in Gryffindor too, you know!" Harry pointed out, keeping his voice low. "And it's not like I knew about all this when I was choosing, I didn't have some grand pureblood upbringing like you or Ron! Maybe I just wanted to be in the same House as my friend!"

Draco stared at him with wide grey eyes and the light from his wand flickered slightly.

"I keep forgetting you were raised by Muggles," Draco spit the word from his mouth like poison.

"Wish I could do the same," Harry mumbled to himself. The two boys sat in silence for a brief moment, surrounded by the blue glow from Draco's wand.

"Do you miss them?" Draco asked. "You're parents, I mean."

"Dunno. I never really knew them," he shrugged.

"Do you remember anything about them?"

Harry remembered a green light and a women's scream.

"No."

Harry picked up his pillow and hugged it to his chest. Draco's eyes found the three cards resting on the bed where the pillow was. Harry followed his gaze and flushed, picking up the cards. The light showed the sleeping faces of James and Lily in their separate cards, baby Harry's tiny face slack and drooling in sleep resting in the crook of his mother's arms.

"I'm sorry you never got to know them," Draco whispered.

"Thanks," Harry whispered back. They both ignored the tears gathered in Harry's eyes.

"You know, a lot of the professors have been here for a really long time," Draco started, "I'm sure some of them remember your parents. You could ask them about them. If you wanted to, of course."

Harry looked up in surprise and smiled at Draco.

"You think?"

Draco shrugged, "I don't see why they wouldn't."

Harry launched himself at Draco and hugged him tightly. The blond tensed and held himself still as Harry wrapped him in his arms.

"Thank you," Harry whispered.

"Er, it was no trouble, Harry. I, erm, suppose we should go back to bed, then," Draco carefully removed himself from Harry's embrace. He whispered 'nox' and the light at the end of his wand went out.

"G'night then, Draco," Harry yawned, realizing only then just how tired he was.

"Goodnight, Harry," Draco whispered back.

Harry set his glasses back on his nightstand and put his pillow back, the cards with his family on them underneath, and finally went to sleep.

Perhaps it was due to his conversation with Draco, but that night Harry dreamt about the Dursleys.

He was back in his cupboard under the stairs and he could hear Uncle Vernon and Dudley in the living room watching telly. There was a knock on the door and Uncle Vernon called for him to open it, but Harry found himself unable to move. Aunt Petunia's heels clicked on the floor as she went to answer it. Harry watched through the open grate in his door, his vision limited though it was, as she opened the door.

There was a high, cold laugh and then a flash of green light. As Aunt Petunia crumpled to the ground, her tight black bun fell into shoulder length red hair, and a scream died before it left her throat. A dark figure glided down the hallway and passed his door. Harry looked out and saw Professor Snape, though he was wearing Professor Quirrell's turban. Snape turned toward the living room, but the next thing Harry knew his door was wrenched open and a wand was being pointed at him. It was as white as a bone and filled Harry with fear. When he looked into the living room it wasn't Vernon and Dudley he saw, but Ron and Draco. He looked by the door where his Aunt lay, but found his mother and father there instead. His head looked wildly about and found Hermione on the stairs, Dean and Seamus on the other end of the hallway, Fred and George by the kitchen door. He turned back to Snape and found the Bloody Baron grinning back at him. It turned Harry's stomach. The Baron lifted the bone white wand and pointed at him. There was a flash of green light and -

Harry woke up gasping for breath, sweat dripping down his forehead. His scar ached slightly and he winced as he put his hand to it. He blearily rubbed his eyes and turned over, closing his eyes and hoping for more sleep.

He fell back to sleep moments later and when he woke the next day the nightmare was only a faint memory.


	5. Midnight Duels

Harry had never believed he would meet someone he hated more than Dudley, but that was before he met Pansy Parkinson. Still, the first-year Gryffindors only had Potions with the Slytherins, so they didn't have to put up with Parkinson much. Or at least, they didn't until they spotted a notice pinned up in the Gryffindor common room that made them all groan. Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday - and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together.

"Typical," said Harry darkly. "Just what I always wanted. To make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Parkinson."

He had been looking forward to learning to fly more than anything else.

"You don't know that you'll make a fool of yourself," said Ron reasonably.

"Doesn't matter anyway," interjected Draco, "Pansy's a rubbish flyer. Blaise is alright though, I've played Quidditch with him a few times at home. Not as good as he's been saying," Draco rolls his eyes and shrugs, "but he's still good."

It seemed as if flying was all the first year pure- and half-blood students could talk about, each of them bragging about how good they were at flying. The way Seamus Finnigan told it, he'd spent most of his childhood zooming around the countryside on his broomstick. Draco had a tendency to spout long rambling narratives about how he would race around the Malfoy Manor and its grounds, though each of them seemed to end with his narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters, so Harry learned to take his stories with a grain of salt. Even Ron would tell anyone who'd listen about the time he's almost his a hang glider on Charlie's old broom. Everyone from Wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly. Ron had already had a big argument with Dean Thomas about soccer. Ron couldn't see what was so exciting about a game with only one ball where no one was allowed to fly. That wasn't to mention the week that Ron and Draco wouldn't talk to each other after they insulted the other's favorite Quidditch team.

Neville had never been on a broomstick in his life because his grandmother had never let him near one. Privately, Harry felt she'd had good reason because Neville managed to have an extraordinary number of accidents even with both feet on the ground.

Hermione Granger was almost as nervous about flying as Neville was. This was something you couldn't learn by heart out of a book - not that she hadn't tried. At breakfast on Thursday, she bored them all stupid with flying tips she'd gotten out of a library book called _Quidditch Through the Ages_. Neville was hanging on to her every word, desperate for anything that might help him hang on to his broomstick later, but everybody else was very pleased when Hermione's lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the mail.

Harry hadn't had a single letter since Hagrid's note, something that Parkinson had been quick to notice, of course. Parkinson's owl was always bringing her packages of sweets from home, which she opened gloatingly at the Slytherin table. Draco continued to receive Howlers from his father and the occasional letter from his mother. He was quick to destroy the Howlers before they could erupt, but he always saved the letters from his mother, which Harry often found him reading in their dormitory later.

A barn owl brought Neville a small package from his grandmother. He opened it excitedly and showed them a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke.

"It's a Remembrall!" he explained. "Gran knows I forget things - this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look you hold it tight like this and if it turns red - oh..." His face fell because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet, "... you've forgotten something..."

Neville was trying to remember what he'd forgotten, scratching at his bare head and ruffling his fine blond hair, when Pansy Parkinson, who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall out of his hand.

Harry and Ron jumped to their feet, though Draco just dropped his head and stayed seated. They were half hoping for a reason to fight Parkinson, but Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker than any teacher in the school, was there in a flash.

"What's going on?"

"Parkinson's got my Remembrall, Professor."

Scowling, Parkinson quickly dropped the Remembrall back on the table.

"Just looking," she said, and she slipped away with Crabbe and Goyle behind her.

"Longbottom, I suggest you go put your hat on before classes start," McGonagall commented before she walked away. Neville's hands went to his blond head, which was indeed bare of his pointed wizard's hat before he leapt from the table and dashed off toward the doors.

⚡

At three-thirty that afternoon, Harry, Ron, Draco, and the other Gryffindors hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns towards a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Harry heard Fred and George Weasley complain about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high, or always few slightly to the left.

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, gray hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

Harry glanced down at his broomstick. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!'"

"UP!" everyone shouted.

Harry's broom jumped into his hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. Hermione Granger's had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville's hadn't moved at all. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could tell when you were afraid, thought Harry; there was a quaver in Neville's voice that said only too clearly that he wanted to keep his feet on the ground.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. Harry and Ron giggled when Draco flushed after she told him he'd been doing it wrong for years. Their friend glared at them, but they all knew it was all in good fun. What really amused the trio was when Parkinson tipped over sideways and fell off her broom.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle - three - two -"

But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips.

"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle - twelve feet - twenty feet. Harry saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off the broom and -

WHAM - a thud and a nasty crack and Neville lay facedown on the grass in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and started to drift lazily toward the forbidden forest and out of sight.

Madam hooch was bending over Neville, her face as white as his.

"Broken wrist," Harry heard her mutter. "Come one, boy - it's all right, up you get."

She turned to the rest of the class.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."

Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him.

No sooner were they out of earshot than Parkinson burst into laughter.

"Did you see that great lump's face?"

The other Slytherins joined in.

"Shut up, Parkinson," snapped Parvati Patil.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Parkinson. "Never thought _you'd_ like fat little cry-babies, Parvati."

"Look!" said Blaise Zabini, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."

The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up.

"Give it here, Zabini," said Harry quietly. Everyone stopped talking to watch.

Zabini and Parkinson looked at each other, then both smiled nastily.

"I think Blaise should leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find," she said.

"Like up a tree," Zabini finished.

"Give it _here_!" Harry yelled, but Zabini had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off. Draco hadn't been lying when he said Blaise could fly well. Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he called, "Come and get it, Potter!"

Harry grabbed his broom.

" _No!_ " shouted Hermione Granger. "Madam Hooch told us not to move - you'll get us all into trouble."

Harry ignored her. Blood was pounding in his ears. He mounted the broom and kicked hard against the ground and up, up he soared; air rushed through his hair, and his robes whipped out behind him - and in a rush of fierce joy he realized he found something he could do without being taught - this was easy, this was _wonderful_. He pulled his broomstick up a little to take it even higher, and heard screams and gasps of girls back on the ground and an admiring whoop from Ron and Draco.

He turned his broomstick sharply to face Zabini in midair. Zabini looked stunned.

"Give it here," Harry called, "or I'll knock you off that broom!"

"Oh, yeah?" said Zabini, trying to sneer but looking worried.

Harry knew, somehow, what to do. He leaned forward and grasped the broom tightly in both hands, and it shot forward toward Zabini like a javelin. Zabini only just got out of the way in time; Harry made a sharp about-face and held the broom steady. A few people below were clapping.

"No Slytherins up here to save your neck, Zabini," Harry called.

The same thought seemed to have struck Zabini.

"Catch it if you can, then!" he shouted, and he threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back toward the ground.

Harry saw, as though in slow motion, the ball rise up in the air and then start to fall. He leaned forward and pointed his broom handle down - next second he was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball - wind whistled in his ears, mingled with the screams of people watching - he stretched out his hand - a foot from the ground he caught it, just in time to pull his broom straight, and he toppled gently onto the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in his fist.

"HARRY POTTER!"

His heart sank faster than he'd just dived. Professor McGonagall was running toward them. He got to his feet, trembling.

" _Never_ \- in all my time at Hogwarts -"

Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flashed furiously, "- how _dare_ you - might have broken your neck -"

"It wasn't his fault, Professor -"

"Be quiet, Miss Patil -"

"Blaise started -"

"Not now, Mr. Malfoy -"

"But Zabini -"

"That's _enough_ , Mr. Weasley. Potter, follow me, now."

Harry caught sight of Parkinson, Zabini, Crabbe, and Goyle's triumphant faces as he left, walking numbly in Professor McGonagall's wake as she strode toward the castle. Draco was still railing against Pansy and Blaise as he walked away, which made him feel a warm gratitude toward his friend but didn't stop the sinking in his stomach. He was going to be expelled, he just knew it. He wanted to say something to defend himself, but there seemed to be something wrong with his voice. Professor McGonagall was sweeping along without even looking at him; he had to jog to keep up. Now he'd done it. He hadn't even lasted two weeks. He'd be packing his bags in ten minutes. What would the Dursleys say when he turned up on the doorstep? What would Vernon do when he came back early?

Up the front steps, up the marble staircase inside, and still, Professor McGonagall didn't say a word to him. She wrenched open doors and marched along corridors with Harry trotting miserably behind her. Maybe she was taking him to Dumbledore. He thought of Hagrid, expelled but allowed to stay on as gamekeeper. Perhaps he could be Hagrid's assistant. His stomach twisted as he imagined it, watching Ron and the others becoming wizards while he stomped around on the grounds carrying Hagrid's bag.

Professor McGonagall stopped outside a classroom. She opened the door and poked her head inside.

"Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?"

Wood? thought Harry, bewildered; was Wood a cane she was going to use on him?

But Wood turned out to be a person, a burly fifth-year boy who came out of Flitwick's class looking confused.

"Follow me, you two," said Professor McGonagall, and they marched on up the corridor, Wood looking curiously at Harry.

"In here."

Professor McGonagall pointed them into a classroom that was empty except for Peeves, who was busy writing rude words on the blackboard.

"Out, Peeves!" she barked. Peeves threw the chalk into a bin, which clanged loudly, and he swooped out cursing. Professor McGonagall slammed the door behind him and turned to face the two boys.

"Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood - I've found you a Seeker."

Wood's expression changed from Puzzlement to delight.

"Are you serious, Professor?"

"Absolutely," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "The boy's a natural. I've never seen anything like it. What that your first time on a broomstick, Potter?"

Harry nodded silently. He didn't have a clue what was going on, but he didn't seem to be being expelled, and some of the feeling started coming back to his legs.

"He caught that thing in his hand after a fifty-foot dive," Professor McGonagall told Wood. "Didn't even scratch himself. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it."

Wood was now looking as if all his dreams had come true at once.

"Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?" he asked excitedly.

"Wood's captain of the Gryffindor team," Professor McGonagall explained.

"He's just the build for a Seeker, too," said Wood, now walking around Harry and staring at him. "Light - speedy - we'll have to get him a decent broom, Professor - a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, I'd say."

"I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can't bend the first-year rule. Heaven knows we need a better team than last year. _Flattened_ in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus Snape in the face for weeks...."

Professor McGonagall peered sternly over her glasses as Harry.

"I want to hear you're training hard, Potter or I may change my mind about punishing you."

Then she suddenly smiled.

"Your father would have been proud," she said. "He was an excellent Quidditch player himself."

⚡

"You're _joking_."

It was dinnertime. Harry had just finished telling Ron and Draco what had happened when he'd left the grounds with Professor McGonagall. Ron had a piece of steak and kidney pie halfway to his mouth, but he'd forgotten all about it. Draco had very nearly spit out his canh chua when Harry told them he had been made Seeker and was now staring at him with his mouth hanging open.

" _Seeker?_ " he said. "But first years _never_ \- must be the youngest House player in about -"

"- a century," said Harry, shoveling aloo matar into his mouth. He felt particularly hungry after the excitement of the afternoon. "Wood told me."

Ron was so amazed, so impressed, he just sat and gaped at Harry.

"When do you start training?" asked Draco, leaned forward across the table.

"Next week," answered Harry. "Only don't tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a secret."

Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Harry, and hurried over.

"Well done," said George in a low voice. "Wood told us. We're on the team too - Beaters."

"I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch Cup for sure this year," said Fred. "We haven't won since Charlie left, but this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skipping when he told us."

"Anyway, we've got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new passageway out of the school."

"Bet it's the one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week."

"Or the one behind the mirror on the fourth floor we found after we got the map," George added as the twins left.

Fred and George had hardly disappeared when someone far less welcome turned up: Parkinson and Zabini, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

"Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?" Zabini asked, a practiced sneer on his face.

"You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you," said Harry coolly. There was of course nothing at all little about Crabbe and Goyle, but as the High Table was full of teachers, neither of them do more than crack their knuckles and scowl.

"He could take you on anytime on his own," said Parkinson. "But I'd rather do it myself. Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only - no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"

Ron bristled beside Harry, no doubt ready to come to his defense, but this time Draco beat him to it.

"Don't be ridiculous, Pansy, of course, I've taught him about wizard's duels. I'm his second, who's yours?"

Parkinson looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up. Evidently finding them wanting she turned to Zabini.

"Blaise," she said. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked."

When Parkinson was gone, Ron and Harry looked at Draco.

"What _is_ a wizard's duel?" said Harry. "And what do you mean, you're my second?"

"I'm there in case you die," said Draco casually, starting in on his cold canh chua again.

"What are you thinking Malfoy!" Ron demanded. Draco looked up and caught the look on Harry's face.

"Oh, not to worry though, Harry, nothing will happen. Only proper wizards ever die in duels, anyone younger than a fourth year doesn't know any spells that can do a lot of damage. The most you and Parkinson will do is throw a few sparks at each other. Neither of you knows enough to do any harm. She probably expected you to refuse, anyway." Draco tried to reassure him.

"And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?"

"Throw it away and punch her in the face," Ron suggested.

"Excuse me."

They all looked up. It was Hermoine Granger.

"Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" said Ron.

Hermoine ignored him and spoke to Harry.

"I couldn't help overhearing what you and Parkinson were saying -"

"Bet you could," Ron muttered. Draco scoffed.

"- and you _mustn't_ go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught, and you're bound to be. It's really very selfish of you."

"And it's really none of your business," said Harry.

"Goodbye," said Ron. Draco smiled and waved at her dismissively.

⚡

All the same, it wasn't what you'd call the perfect end to the day, Harry thought, as he lay in one of the large, over-stuffed chairs in the common room listening to Dean and Seamus bickering over the merits of Quidditch versus football, as well as commenting on the excitement of the flying lesson (Neville still wasn't back from the hospital wing). Ron and Draco were still nattering on about the different spells he could use, and had repeatedly given him advice such as 'If she tries to curse you, you'd better dodge it because I can't remember how to block them.' There was a very good chance that they were going to get caught by Filch or Mrs. Norris, and Harry felt that he was pushing his luck, breaking another school rule today. Although, he thought, if he did die in the duel at least he wouldn't have to go back to the Dursleys.

Percy finally sent them all to bed, but Harry couldn't find it in himself to actually sleep, too strung up with nerves to even consider closing his eyes. Even still, Parkinson's sneering face kept looming up out of the darkness - this was his big chance to beat Parkinson face-to-face. He couldn't miss it

"Half-past eleven," Draco muttered at last, "we'd better go."

They pulled on their bathrobes and picked up their wands, lingering for a half-second in the tower room. Ron had passed out at some point, and they weren't sure whether they should wake him or not. While there was a good chance that Parkinson would bring Crabbe and Goyle along with Zabini, it would also be easier to sneak out of the tower with only two people, instead of three. The two looked at each other and come to a silent agreement to let Ron sleep. They crept down the spiral staircase and into the Gryffindor common room. They had almost reached the portrait hole when a voice spoke from the chair nearest them, "I can't believe you're going to do this, Harry."

A lamp flickered on. It was Hermione Granger, wearing a pink bathrobe and a frown.

"Granger!" whispered Draco furiously. "Go back to bed!"

"I almost told Ron's brother," Hermione snapped, "Percy - he's a prefect, he'd put a stop to this."

Harry couldn't believe someone could be so interfering.

"Come on," he said to Draco. He pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady and climbed through the hole.

Hermione wasn't going to give up that easily. She followed Draco through the portrait hole, hissing at them like an angry goose.

"Don't you _care_ about Gryffindor, do you _only_ care about yourselves, _I_ don't want Slytherin to win the House Cup, and you'll lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells."

"Go away."

"All right, but I warned you, you just remember what I said when you're on the train home tomorrow, you're so -"

But what they were, they didn't find out. Hermione had turned to the portrait of the Fat Lady to get back inside and found herself facing the empty painting. The Fat Lady had gone on a nighttime visit and Hermione was locked out of Gryffindor Tower.

"Now what am I going to do?" she asked shrilly.

"I suppose that's your problem," said Draco. "We've got somewhere to be, and we're going to be late."

They hadn't even reached the end of the corridor when Hermione caught up with them.

"I'm coming with you," she said.

"You are most certainly _not_."

"D'you think I'm going to stand out here and wait for Filch to catch me? If he finds all three of us I'll tell him the truth, that I was trying to stop you, and you can back me up."

"The nerve -"

"Shut up, both of you!" said Harry sharply. "I heard something."

It was a sort of snuffling.

"Do you think it's Mrs. Norris?" inquired Draco, scarcely breathing and squinting through the dark.

It wasn't Mrs. Norris. It was Neville. He was curled up on the floor, fast asleep, but jerked suddenly awake as they crept nearer.

Thank goodness you found me! I've been out here for hours, I couldn't remember the new password to get into bed."

"Keep quiet!" hissed Draco, casting furtive glances down the hallway.

"The new password's 'Pig snout' but it won't help you now, the Fat Lady's gone off somewhere."

"How's your arm?" said Harry.

"Fine," said Neville, showing them. "Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute."

"Good - well, look, Neville, we've got to be somewhere, we'll see you later -"

"Don't leave me!" said Neville, scrambling to his feet, "I don't want to stay here alone, the Bloody Baron's been past twice already."

Draco huffed and threw his hands up, turning and walking back down the corridor. He stopped about halfway and turned back to them, glaring and pointing at Hermione and Neville.

"You can come with, but if either of you gets us caught I'll hex you both so hard your great grandchildren will feel it," said Draco.

Hermione huffed and opened her mouth to protest, but stopped herself when they all heard the sound of the portrait hole creaking open.

"Harry? Draco? Are you out there?"

The group turned together and watched as Ron climbed out of the Gryffindor entrance.

"HOLD THE DOOR!" they all shouted as one, but it was too late. The portrait swung closed before Ron could realize what they were saying.

"Great going Weasley, now there's even more of us to get caught by Filch," Draco said.

Ron opened his mouth, perhaps to tell Draco off, but Harry hissed at him to be quiet and beckoned them all forward.

They flitted along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. At every turn, Harry expected to run into Filch or Mrs. Norris, but they were lucky. They sped up a staircase to the third floor and tiptoed toward the trophy room.

Parkinson and Zabini weren't there yet. The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates, and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness. They edged along the walls, keeping their eyes on the dots at either end of the room. Harry took out his wand in case Parkinson leapt in and started at once. The minutes crept by.

"She's late, maybe she's chickened out," Ron whispered. Draco sucked in a sharp breath.

"Or she's set us up!" Draco whispered back.

A noise came from the other room and made them jump. Harry only just raised his wand when they heard someone speak - and it wasn't Parkinson.

"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."

It was Filch speaking to Mrs. Norris.

"Run," whispered Draco then grabbed Harry's hand and waved madly at the others to follow them as quickly as possible; they scurried silently toward the door, away from Filch's voice. Neville's robes had barely whipped around the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room.

"They're in here somewhere," they heard him mutter, "probably hiding."

"This way!" Harry mouthed to the others and, petrified, they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armor. They could hear Filch getting nearer. Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run - he tripped, grabbed Ron around the waist, and the pair of them toppled into a suit of armor.

The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle.

"RUN!" Harry yelled, and the five of them sprinted down the gallery, not looking back to see whether Filch was following - they swung around the rooftops and scalloped down one corridor then another, Harry and Draco in the lead, without any idea where they were or where they were going - they ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it and came out near the Charms classroom, which they knew was miles from the trophy room.

"I think we lost him," Harry painted, leaning the cold wall and wiping his forehead with one hand. It was then he realized he and Draco were still holding hands. The two boys blushed, dropped each other's hand, and looked away from the other. Neville was bent double, wheezing and spluttering.

"I - _told_ \- you," Hermoine gasped, clutching at the stitch in her chest, "I - told - you."

"Yes, _thank you_ , Hermione," said Draco, rolling his eyes.

"We've got to get back to Gryffindor Tower," said Ron, "quickly as possible."

"Parkinson tricked you," Hermione said to Harry. "You realize that don't you? She was never going to meet you - Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Parkinson must have tipped him off."

"I think we managed to work that out of ourselves, thanks," said Draco.

"Let's go," said Harry, sighing.

It wasn't going to be that simple. They hadn't gone more than a dozen paces when a doorknob rattled and something came shooting out of a classroom in front of them.

It was Peeves. He caught sight of them and have a squeal of delight.

"Shut up, Peeves - please - you'll get us thrown out," Harry begged.

Peeves cackled.

"Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty!"

"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please," Harry tried again.

"Should tell Filch, I should," said Peeves in a saintly voice, but with his eyes glittering wickedly. "It's for your own good, you know."

Draco put out his arm to stop Ron, who looked one second away from trying to fight Peeves, and stepped forward.

"But Peeves, if you tell Filch, that'll make him happy. You don't want to make Filch happy, do you?"

Peeves paused and pondered this for a bit.

"Suppose I don't, Ickle Blood-traitor. But what will the Ickle Firsties do for Peevsie? Not as clever as the last ones, but more of you. Used to be four but now there's more!" Peeves descended into giggles at that.

"I've had enough of this. Get out of the way!" snapped Ron, taking a swipe at Peeves - this was a big mistake.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed, "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"

Ducking under Peeves, they ran for their lives, right to the end of the corridor when they slammed into a door - and it was locked.

"This is it," Ron moaned, as they pushed helplessly at the door, "We're done for! This is the end!"

They could hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as he could towards Peeves' shouts.

"Oh, move over," Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry's wand, tapped the lock, and whispered, " _Alohomora_!"

The lock clicked and the door swung open - they piled through it, shut it quickly, and pressed their ears against it, listening.

"Which way did they go, Peeves?" Filch was saying. "Quick, tell me."

"Say 'please'."

"Don't mess with me, Peeves, now _where did they go_?"

"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," said Peeves in his annoying dungeon voice.

"All right - _please_."

"NOTHING! Haha! Haaaaaa!" And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage.

"He thinks this door is locked," Harry whispered. "I think we'll be okay - get _off_ , Neville!" For Neville had been tugging on the sleeve of Harry's bathrobe for the last minute. " _What_?"

Harry turned around - and saw, quite clearly, what. For a moment, he was sure he'd walked into a nightmare - this was too much, on top of everything that had happened so far.

They weren't in a room, as he had supposed. They were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now they knew why it was forbidden.

They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between the ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery robes from yellowish fangs.

It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Harry knew that the only reason they weren't already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that, there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant.

Harry groped for the doorknob - between Filch and death, he'd take Filch - only to find another hand already on it. He turned and caught Draco's eye, who nodded.

"On three, get ready to run. One. Two. Three!"

They fell backward - Draco slammed the door shut and they ran, they almost flew, back down the corridor. Filch must have hurried off to look for them somewhere else because they didn't see him anywhere, but they hardly cared - all they wanted to do was put as much space as possible between them and that monster. They didn't stop until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor, who was luckily back in her portrait.

"Where on earth have you all been?" she asked, looking at their bathrobes hanging off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces.

"Never mind that - pig snout, pig snout," painted Harry, and the portrait swung forward - though not without the Fat Lady grumbling to herself about young Gryffindors and fathers. They scrambled into the common room and collapsed, trembling, into armchairs.

It was a while before any of them said anything. Neville, indeed, looked as if he'd never speak again.

"What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?" said Ron finally. "If any dog needs exercise, that one does."

Hermione had got both her breath and her bad temper back again.

"You don't use your eyes, any of you, do you?" she snapped. "Didn't you see what it was standing on?

"The floor?" Harry suggested. "I wasn't looking at its feet, I was too busy with its heads."

"No, _not_ the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It's obviously guarding something."

She stood up, glaring at them.

"I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could have all been killed - or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."

Ron stared after her, his mouth open.

"She needs the sort out her priorities," he said.

"Honestly, you'd think we dragged her along," Draco mumbled.

But Hermione had given Harry something else to think about as he climbed back into bed. The dog was guarding something. . . What had Hagrid said? Gringotts goblins as the safest place in the world for something you wanted to hide - except perhaps Hogwarts.

It looked as though Harry had found out where the grubby little package from vault seven hundred and thirteen was.


	6. The Halloween Feast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating sooner! A friend of mine borrowed my Harry Potter books before going off to college and she only just came back for winter break to give them to me, so I couldn't update for a while.

Parkinson couldn't believe her eyes when she saw that Harry and Draco were still at Hogwarts the next day, looking tired but perfectly cheerful. Indeed, by the next morning Harry, Draco, and Ron thought that meeting the three-headed dog had been an excellent adventure, and they were quite keen to have another one. In the meantime, Harry filled his two friends in about the package that seemed to have been moved from Gringotts to Hogwarts, and they spent a lot of time wondering what could possibly need such heavy protection.

"It's either really valuable or really dangerous," said Ron.

"Or both," said Harry.

"Probably both," said Draco.

But as all they knew for sure about the mysterious object was that it was about two inches long, they didn't have much of a chance of guessing what it was without further clues.

Neither Neville not Hermione showed the slightest interest in what lay underneath the dog and the trapdoor. All Neville cared about was never going near the dog again.

Hermione was now refusing to speak to the three boys, but she was such a bossy know-it-all that they saw this as an added bonus. All they really wanted now was a way of getting back at Parkinson and Blaise, and to their great delight, just such a thing arrived in the mail about a week later.

As the owls flooded into the Great Hall, as usual, everyone's attention was caught at once by a long, thin package carried by six large screech owls. Harry was just as interested as everyone else to see what was in this large parcel and was amazed when the owls soared down and dropped it right in front of him, knocking his bacon to the floor. They had hardly fluttered out of the way when another owl dropped a letter on top of the parcel.

Harry ripped open the letter first, which was lucky because it said:

DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE.  
It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand,  
but I don't want everybody knowing you've got  
a broomstick or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood  
will meet you tonight on the Quidditch field at  
seven o'clock for your first training session.

Professor M. McGonagall

Harry had difficulty hiding his glee as he handed the note across the table for Ron and Draco to read.

"A Nimbus Two Thousand!" Ron moaned enviously. "I've never even _touched_ one."

"Well, of course, _you_ haven't," Draco scoffed, "I'm getting one next year, if they haven't come out with a new one, father promis-"

Draco trailed off, accompanied by a look of dawning horror.

"Draco?" asked Harry.

Draco bolted from his seat at the table and rushed to the door. Harry and Ron both sprung up to follow, Ron grabbing the broomstick on his way. They were halfway across the entrance hall when they found the way upstairs barred by Crabbe and Goyle. Parkinson seized the package from Ron and passed it to Zabini, who felt it and smirked.

"That's a broomstick," he said, throwing it back to them with a mixture of jealousy and spite on his face.

"Yeah," Harry snapped, craning his neck around Crabbe and Goyle's lumbering forms.

"Think that because you're the Boy Who Lived you get special privileges, Potter? First years can't have brooms, you know," said Parkinson.

Ron couldn't resist it.

"It's not any old broomstick," he said, "it's a Nimbus Two Thousand. What did you say you've got at home, Zabini, a Cleansweep Seven?" Ron grinned at Harry. "Cleansweeps are good, but no match for the Nimbus."

"What would you know about it, Weasley? You couldn't raise enough money to even touch one," Zabini snapped back.

"Your little family of blood-traitors and muggle-lovers probably have to save up twig by twig," Parkinson sneered.

Before Ron could answer, Professor Flitwick appeared at Parkinson's elbow.

"Not arguing I hope?" he squeaked.

"Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor," said Parkinson quickly.

"Yes, yes, that's right," said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Harry. "Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it?"

"A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir," said Harry, fighting not to laugh at the look of horror on Parkinson and Zabini's faces. "And it's really thanks to Zabini here that I've got it," he added. "If you'll excuse us, Professor, we really need to get back to our dorms."

Harry and Ron headed upstairs, Ron smothering his laughter at the Slytherin duo's obvious rage and confusion. Harry just wished he could enjoy it more, but he was worried about Draco.

"I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking the rules, then?" came an angry voice from just behind them. Hermione was stomping up the stairs, looking disapprovingly at the package in Harry's hand.

"I really don't have time for this, Hermione," groaned Harry.

"Weren't you not speaking to us? Don't stop now, it's doing us so much good," said Ron.

Hermione marched away with her nose in the air.

"Come on, we've got to get to Draco," said Harry, walking steadily back to the dorms.

Draco wasn't in the common room, nor was he in their dormitory when Harry went up to stash his Nimbus under his bed. The fifth-year studying in the common room said she hadn't seen him since they left for breakfast, and by then they didn't have time to keep looking, or they'd be late for double Potions.

Draco was, of course, waiting for them in Snape's classroom when they arrived. Though his eyes seemed a little redder than normal, he showed no signs that this morning was anything other than normal.

Harry had a lot of trouble keeping his mind on his lessons that day. It kept wandering up to the dormitory where his new broomstick was lying under his bed, or straying off to the Quidditch field where he'd be learning to play that night. Occasionally it would take a quick jaunt to wonder why Draco had suddenly left that morning and where he'd gone. He bolted his dinner that evening without noticing what he was eating and then grabbed Draco and Ron to rush upstairs and unwrap the Nimbus Two Thousand at last.

"Wow," Ron sighed, as the broomstick rolled onto Harry's bedspread. Draco watched it with keen eyes, though he remained quiet and refused to meet either Ron or Harry's eyes.

Even Harry, who knew nothing about the different brooms, thought it looked wonderful. Sleek and shiny, with a mahogany handle, it had a long tail of neat, straight twigs and Nimbus Two Thousand written in gold near the top.

Harry glanced from Draco, who had settled on his bed with his History of Magic textbook, to the clock, which showed that he had fifteen minutes to get to the Quidditch field. He bit his lip and glanced at Draco again before snatching up his broom and running out of the dorm. He drew more than a few looks as he ran out of the castle with his Nimbus clutched in his fist, though by now he was used to people looking at him all the time.

He'd never been inside the stadium before. Hundreds of seats were raised in stands around the field so that the spectators were high enough to see what was going on. At either end of the field were three golden poles with hoops on the end. They reminded Harry of the little plastic sticks Muggle children blew bubbles through, expect they were fifty feet high.

Too eager to fly again to wait for Wood, Harry mounted his broomstick and kicked off from the ground. What a feeling - he swooped in and out of the goalposts and then sped up and down the field. The Nimbus Two Thousand turned wherever he wanted at his lightest touch.

"Hey, Potter, come down!"

Oliver Wood had arrived. He was carrying a large wooden crate under his arm. Harry landed next to him.

"Very nice," said Wood, his eyes glinting. "I see what McGonagall meant... you really are a natural. I'm just going to teach you the rules this evening, then you'll be joining team practice three times a week."

After Wood explained to him about Chasers, Keepers, Quaffles, Bludgers, Beaters, Seekers, and the Golden Snitch, and after they had practiced with golf balls until it got too dark, Harry helped Wood pack up.

"Um, Wood?" Harry asked, squinting at his shoes in the dark.

"Something wrong?" Wood replied.

"Not really, it's just that I was wondering what happened to your other Seeker? I mean, you must've held tryouts since your last Seeker graduated, and I was thinking that it can't be very fair to whoever tried out for the spot, me getting it like I did. Then I started wondering if me getting the spot had to do with me being, well, Harry Potter, and not being the best person for the spot. Especially since I've never even been on a broom until yesterday," Harry shrugged and gripped his broom tightly. Wood rested his hand on Harry's shoulder firmly, if a bit awkwardly.

"Harry, I didn't have a new Seeker yet. We held tryouts, yeah, but none of them could perform like I needed. That's why McGonagall brought you to me because she knew I was still looking for someone to take Charlie's place. I may not have seen that dive you did, but after your performance tonight I can tell you that there's no one better for the job," Wood squeezed his shoulder one more time before letting go and picking up the crate. "Now come on, we've got to get back to the castle."

They trudged back up to the castle, Wood happily telling Harry that the Quidditch Cup will have Gryffindor on it this year.

"I wouldn't be surprised if you turn out better than Charlie Weasley, and he could have played for England if he hadn't gone off chasing dragons," Wood said.

Harry smiled happily as he reentered the common room and made his way back up to his dorm, though the smile dimmed a bit when he realized Draco had already gone to sleep. He had been planning on talking to him after his training session with Wood. Ron quickly distracted him though, asking questions about what he and Wood did until Percy came by and told them it was lights out. Harry lay down in his bed staring at his canopy, and as his eyes fluttered shut his gaze shifted to the foot of his bed, and for the first time he noticed the pair of antlers carved into the wood.

⚡

Perhaps it was because he was now so busy, what with Quidditch practice three evenings a week on top of all his homework, but Harry could hardly believe it when he realized that he'd already been at Hogwarts two months. The castle felt more like a home than Privet Drive ever had. His lessons, too, were becoming more and more interesting now that they had mastered the basics.

On Halloween morning they woke up to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the corridors. Even better, Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly, something they had all been dying to try since they'd seen him make Neville's toad zoom around the classroom. Professor Flitwick put the class into pairs to practice. Harry was glad to be partnered with Draco, though he felt bad for Seamus Finnigan, who was partnered with Neville, and Ron, who was working with Hermione Granger. It was hard to tell whether Ron or Hermione was angrier about this. She hadn't spoken to any of them since the day Harry's broomstick arrived.

"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!" squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is important, too - never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."

It was very difficult. Harry and Draco swished and flicked, but the feather they were supposed to be sending skyward just lay on the desktop. At the table on Harry's other side, Seamus got so fed up with his feather he prodded it with his wand and set fire to it - Harry had to put it out with his hat, as Neville had forgotten his again.

Ron, at table on Draco's other side, wasn't having much more luck.

" _Wingardium Leviosa!_ " he shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill.

"You're saying it wrong," Harry heard Hermione snap. "It's Win- _gar_ -dium Levi- _o_ -sa, make the 'gar' nice and long."

"You do it then if you're so clever," Ron snarled.

Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her gown, flicked her wand, and said, " _Wingardium Leviosa!_ "

Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.

"Oh, well done!" cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. "Everyone see here, Miss Granger's done it!"

Ron was in a very bad mood by the end of the class.

"It's no wonder no one can stand her," he said to Harry and Draco as they pushed their way into the crowded corridor, "she's a nightmare, honestly."

Someone knocked into Harry as they hurried past him. It was Hermione. Harry caught a glimpse of her face - and was startled to see that she was in tears.

"I think she heard you," said Harry.

"So?" said Ron, but he looked a bit uncomfortable. "She must've noticed she's got no friends."

"Yes, and you haven't any money, but that doesn't mean you want people making fun of you for it," Draco snapped and strode away from Ron and Harry. This was the most he had said to them since last week.

Hermione didn't turn up for the next class and wasn't seen all afternoon. On their way down to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, Harry, Ron, and Draco overheard Parvati Patil telling her friend Lavender that Hermione was crying in the girls' bathroom and wanted to be left alone. Ron looked still more awkward at this, but a moment later they had entered the Great Hall, where the Halloween decorations put Hermione out of their minds.

A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. The feast appeared suddenly on the golden plates, as it had at the start-of-term banquet.

Harry noticed a lot of the students, and even a few of the professors were watching him and whispering. While this wasn't unusual for him since coming to Hogwarts, tonight it felt different.

"Why is everyone staring at me?" he asked Draco. Draco paused in scooping stir-fry onto his plate and glanced around at the faces staring at Harry.

"Oh," said Draco, setting down the stir-fry plate and turning to Harry with wide grey eyes. "It's because it's Halloween, I suppose."

"What's Halloween got to do with anything?" Harry asked, reaching for a dish of curry that looked especially delicious.

"Well, that's the day you defeated You-Know-Who," Draco said, casually, taking a bite of his stir-fry. Someone's utensils dropped, ringing loudly even among the chatter of the Great Hall, and Harry only realized they were his when Draco reached across the table to take his arm, shaking it slightly.

"Harry. Harry?"

"What?" asked Harry, blinking at Draco.

"Are you alright?" Draco asked.

"Yeah, yeah I suppose. It said that on the back of my card, that I defeated Voldemort today, but I guess I must've forgot," Harry looked down at his plate, at the naan and rice and curry, and couldn't help but wonder what his life would've been like if his parents hadn't died ten years ago tonight. If he had never become The Boy Who Lived.

Harry didn't have much time to think about all that just then, because Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore's chair, slumped against the table, and gasped, "Troll - in the dungeons - thought you ought to know."

He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.

There was an uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore's wand to bring silence.

"Prefects," he rumbled, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

Percy was in his element.

"Follow me! Stick together, first years! No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders! Stay close behind me, now. Make way, first years coming through! Excuse me, I'm a prefect!"

"How could a troll get in?" Harry asked as they climbed the stairs.

"Don't ask me, they're supposed to be really stupid," said Ron.

"Well then, you're the closest thing to a troll we've got. You could give us a look into how their minds work," Draco said, smirking. Ron scowled at him, but Harry had to suppress his laughter.

"I bet Peeves let it in for a Halloween joke," huffed Ron.

They passed different groups of people hurrying in different directions. As they jostled their way through a crowd of confused Hufflepuffs, Harry came to a sudden halt as he was jerked back by Draco pulling on his sleeve.

"Hermione doesn't know about the troll," Draco said with wide eyes. Harry felt his own eyes go wide and he grabbed Ron's arm.

"We've got to get Hermione."

"What about Hermione?"

"She doesn't know about the troll, Ronald!" Draco snaps.

Ron bit his lip.

"Oh, all right," he snapped. "But Percy'd better not see us."

Ducking down, they joined the Hufflepuffs going the other way, slipped down a deserted side corridor, and hurried off toward the girls' bathroom. They had just turned the corner when they heard quick footsteps behind them.

"Percy!" hissed Ron, pulling Harry and Draco behind a large stone griffin.

Peering around it, however, they saw not Percy but Snape. He crossed the corridor and disappeared from view.

"What's he doing?" Harry whispered. "Why isn't he down in the dungeons with the rest of the teachers?"

"Search me," Ron replied. Draco said nothing but bit his lip.

Quietly as possible, they crept along the next corridor after Snape's fading footsteps.

"He's heading for the third floor," Harry said, but Ron held up his hand.

"Can you smell something?"

Harry sniffed and a foul stench reached his nostrils, a mixture of old socks and the kind of public toilet no one seems to clean.

And then they heard it - a low grunting, and the shuffling footfalls of gigantic feet. Ron pointed - at the end of a passage to the left, something huge was moving toward them. They shrank into the shadows and watched as it emerged into a patch of moonlight.

It was a horrible sight. Twelve feet tall, its skin was a dull, granite gray, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a coconut. It had short legs thick as tree trunks with flat, horny feet. The smell coming from it was incredible. It was holding a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its arms were so long.

The troll stopped next to a doorway and peered inside. It waggled its long ears, making up its tiny mind, then slouched slowly into the room.

"The key's in the lock," Harry muttered. "We could lock it in."

"Good idea," said Ron nervously.

"Just do it quick," Draco whispered, looking about.

They edged toward the open door, mouths dry, praying the troll wasn't about to come out of it. With one great leap, Harry managed to grab the key and slam the door, but before he could lock it, Draco grabbed his arm.

"Wait!" Draco hissed. "That's the girls' bathroom!"

As if to accentuate this point the three boys froze in fear as a high, petrified scream came from inside the chamber.

" _Hermione!_ " they said together.

Harry pulled the door open and they ran inside.

Hermione Granger was shrinking against the wall opposite, looking as if she was about to faint. The troll was advancing on her, knocking the sinks off the wall as it went.

"Confuse it!" Harry said desperately to his friends, and, seizing a tap, he threw it as hard as he could against the wall.

The troll stopped a few feet from Hermione. It lumbered around, blinking stupidly, to see what had made the noise. Its mean little eyes saw Harry. It hesitated, then made for him instead, lifting its club as it went.

"Oy, pea-brain!" yelled Ron from the other side of the chamber, and giving Draco, who had slowly begun to creep around it, the opportunity to grab Hermione.

"Come on, Granger, you've got to run!" Draco yelled at Hermione, trying to pull her toward the door, but she couldn't move, she was still flat against the wall, her mouth open with terror. Harry was yelling similar from where he was standing by the door.

The shouting and the echoes seemed to be driving the troll berserk. It roared again and started toward Ron, who was nearest and had no way to escape.

Harry did something that was both very brave and very stupid: He took a great running jump and managed to fasten his arms around the troll's neck from behind. The troll couldn't feel Harry hanging there, but even a troll will notice if you stick a long bit of wood up its nose, and Harry's wand had still been in his hand when he'd jumped - it had gone straight up one of the troll's nostrils.

Howling with pain, the troll twisted and flailed its club, with Harry clinging on for dear life; any second the troll was going to rip him off or catch him with a terrible blow with the club.

Hermione, despite Draco's insistent pulling on her arm, had sunk to the floor in fright; Ron pulled out his own wand - not knowing what he was going to do he heard himself cry the first spell that came into his head: " _Wingardium Leviosa!_ "

The club flew suddenly out of the troll's hand, rose high, high up into the hair, turned slowly over - and dropped, with a sickening crack, onto its owner's head. The troll sawed on the spot and then fell flat on its face, with a thud that made the whole room tremble.

Harry got to his feet. He was shaking and out of breath. Ron was standing there with his wand still raised, staring at what he had done. Draco was still clutching Hermione's arm, though his grip had gone slack.

It was Hermione who spoke first.

"Is it - dead?"

"I don't think so," said Harry, "I think it's just been knocked out."

He bent down and pulled his wand out of the troll's nose. It was covered in what looked like lumpy grey glue.

"Urgh - troll boogers."

He wiped it on the troll's trousers.

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the four of them look up. They hadn't realized what a racket they had been making, but of course, someone downstairs must have heard the crashes and the troll's roars. A moment later, Professor McGonagall had come bursting into the room, closely followed by Snape, with Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart.

Snape bent over the troll. Professor McGonagall was looking at Ron, Harry, and Draco (who had finally let go of Hermione's arm and joined his two friends). Harry had never seen her look so angry. Her lips were white. Hopes of winning fifty points for Gryffindor faded quickly from Harry's mind.

"What on earth were you thinking of?" said Professor McGonagall, with cold fury in her voice. Harry looked at Draco, then Ron, who was still standing with his wand in the air. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

Snape gave Harry a swift, piercing look. Harry looked at the floor. He wished Ron would put his wand down.

Then a small voice came out of the shadows.

"Please, Professor McGonagall - they were looking for me."

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione had managed to get to her feet at last.

"I went looking for the troll because I - I thought I could deal with it on my own - you know, because I've read all about them."

Ron dropped his wand. Hermione Granger, telling a downright lie to a teacher?

"If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now. Draco was trying to get me to safety, Harry stuck his wand up its nose, and Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived."

The three boys tried to look as though this story wasn't new to them.

"Well - in that case..." said Professor McGonagall, staring at the four of them, "Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?"

Hermione hung her head. Harry was speechless. Hermione was the last person to do anything against the rules, and here she was, pretending she had, to get them out of trouble. It was as if Snape had started handing out sweets.

"Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this," said Professor McGonagall. "I'm very disappointed in you. If you're not hurt at all, you'd better get off to Gryffindor Tower. Students are finishing the feast in their Houses."

Hermione left.

Professor McGonagall turned to Harry, Ron, and Draco.

"Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor five points, for sheer dumb luck. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go."

They hurried out of the chamber and didn't speak at all until they had climbed two floors up. It was a relief to be away from the smell of the troll, quite apart from anything else.

"We should have gotten more than fifteen points," Ron grumbled.

"Ten, you mean, once she's taken off Hermione's."

"Good of her to get us out of trouble like that," Ron admitted. "Mind you, we _did_ save her."

"She might not have needed saving, Ronald, if you hadn't driven her to cry in the bathroom in the first place," Draco reminded him.

They had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Pig snout," they said and entered.

The common room was packed and noisy. Everyone was eating the food that had been sent up. Hermione, however, stood alone by the door, waiting for them. There was a very embarrassed pause. Then, none of them looking at each other, they all said "Thanks," and hurried off to get plates.

But from that moment on, Hermione Granger became their friend. There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them.


	7. Quidditch and Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few changes this chapter, such as during the Quidditch match I use more of Lee Jordan's excellent commentating skills to describe the match. Also at the end of the chapter, I've added an extra scene with the gang in the dorms.
> 
> So sorry about how long it's been, I had a family emergency that took me away from writing for a bit, and I got sidetracked by another story I've been writing. I'll try to get more of this out this year, but no promises.

As they entered November, the weather turned very cold. The mountains around the school became icy gray and the lake like chilled steel. Every morning the ground was covered in frost. Hagrid could be seen from the upstairs windows defrosting broomsticks on the Quidditch field, bundled up in a long moleskin overcoat, rabbit fur gloves, and enormous beaverskin boots.

The Quidditch season had begun. On Saturday, Harry would be playing in his first match after weeks of training: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. If Gryffindor won, they would move up into second place in the House Championship.

Hardly anyone had seen Harry play because Wood had decided that, as their secret weapon, Harry should be kept, well, secret. But the news that he was playing Seeker had leaked out somehow, and Harry didn't know which was worse - people telling him he'd be brilliant or people telling him they'd be running around underneath him holding a mattress.

It was really lucky that Harry now had Hermione as a friend. He didn't know how he'd have gotten through all his homework without her and Draco's help, what with all the last-minute Quidditch practice Wood was making them do. She had also lent him _Quidditch Through the Ages_ , which turned out to be a very interesting read. Not that Harry didn't appreciate Ron and Draco telling him their experiences with Quidditch, of course.

Harry had learned that there were seven hundred ways of committing a Quidditch foul and that all of them had happened during a World Cup match in 1473; that Seekers were usually the smallest and fastest players, and that most serious Quidditch accidents seemed to happen to them; that although people rarely died playing Quidditch, referees had been known to vanish and then turn up months later in the Sahara Desert.

Hermione had become a bit more relaxed about breaking rules since the boys had saved her from the mountain troll, and she was much nicer for it. She had confided in Harry one night as she was helping him with his History of Magic paper that she had been worried they would kick her out if she broke any of the rules, which Harry assured her he understood. The day before Harry's first Quidditch match the four of them were out in the freezing courtyard during the break, and she had conjured them up a bright blue fire that could be carried around in a jam jar. They were standing with their backs to it, getting warm, when Snape crossed the yard. Harry noticed at once that Snape was limping. Harry, Ron, Draco, and Hermione moved closer together to block the fire from view; they were sure it wouldn't be allowed. Unfortunately, something about their guilty faces caught Snape's eye. He limped over. He hadn't seen the fire, but he seemed to be looking for a reason to tell them off anyway.

"What's that you've got there, Potter?"

It was _Quidditch Through the Ages_. Harry showed him.

"Library books are not to be taken outside the school," said Snape. "Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor."

"You just made that rule up!" Draco protested. Snape leveled his scowl at Draco.

"Another five points from Gryffindor, Mr. Malfoy, for talking back to a teacher."

"There go the points we got for fighting that troll," Harry muttered angrily as Snape limped away. "Wonder what's wrong with his leg?"

"Dunno, but I hope it's really hurting him," said Ron bitterly.

⚡

The Gryffindor common room was very noisy that evening. The four of them sat together next to a window. Hermione was checking Harry and Ron's Charms homework for them. She would never let them copy her work ("How will you learn?"), but by asking her to read it through, they got the right answers anyway. Draco didn't need help with his Charms work since he and Hermione were neck and neck to be top of the class.

Harry felt restless. He wanted _Quidditch Through the Ages_ back, to take his mind off his nerves about tomorrow. Why should he be afraid of Snape? Getting up he told his friends he was going to ask Snape if he could have it.

"Better you than me," they said together, but Harry had an idea that Snape wouldn't refuse if there were other teachers listening. Draco watched him go with pinched lips but didn't say anything.

Harry reentered the common room some minutes later, panting after having just sprinted back upstairs, and walked back over to his friends.

"Did you get it?" Ron asked as Harry joined them. "What's the matter?"

In a low whisper, Harry told them about overhearing Snape and Filch.

"You know what this means?" he asked breathlessly. "He tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween. That's where he was going when he saw him - he's after whatever it's guarding. And I'd bet my broomstick _he_ let that troll in to make a diversion."

Hermione's eyes were wide.

"No - he wouldn't," she said. "I know he's not very nice, but he wouldn't try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe."

"Honestly, Hermione, you think all teachers are saints or something," snapped Ron. "I'm with Harry. I wouldn't put anything past Snape."

"What about you, Draco? What do you think?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," Draco mumbled, not looking anyone in the eye. "He's a Slytherin, so he wouldn't go after it if it wasn't in his best interest. I can't really think of anything worth going against Dumbledore, but I suppose it depends."

"On what?" Ron asked.

"What's that dog guarding?"

Harry went to bed with his head buzzing with that same question. Harry couldn't sleep, no matter how hard he tried. He tried to empty his mind - he needed to sleep, he had to, he had his first Quidditch match in a few hours - but the expression on Snape's face when Harry had seen the leg wasn't easy to forget.

⚡

The next morning dawned bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheerful chatter of everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match.

"You've got to eat some breakfast," Ron said through a mouthful of his own breakfast.

"I don't want anything."

"Just a bit of toast," wheedled Hermione.

"I'm not hungry."

Harry felt terrible. In an hour's time, he'd be walking onto the field.

"Harry, you need your strength," said Seamus Finnigan. "Seekers are always the ones who get clobbered by the other team."

"Oh, honestly Finnigan, can't you see how nervous Harry is?" Draco snapped at the Irishman, who was piling ketchup onto his sausages. "You'll do great, Harry, you're a natural. Now, eat your bhatura before I do, they're quite good."

⚡

By eleven o'clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars. The seats may be raised high in the air, but it was still difficult to see what was going on sometimes.

Draco, Ron, and Hermione joined the other Gryffindor boys up in the top row. As a surprise for Harry, they had pained a large banner on one of the sheets Scabbers had ruined. It said _Potter for President_ , and Dean, who was good at drawing, had done a large Gryffindor lion underneath. Then Hermione had performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed different colors. Draco, not to be outdone, had performed his own charm to make the lion roar every so often.

Meanwhile, in the locker room, Harry and the team were changing into their scarlet Quidditch robes (Slytherin would be playing in green).

Wood cleared his throat for silence.

"Okay, men," he said.

"And women," said Chaser Angelina Johnson.

"And women," Wood agreed. "This is it."

"The big one," said Fred Weasley.

"The one we've all been waiting for," said George.

"We know Oliver's speech by heart," Fred told Harry, "we were on the team last year."

"Shut up you two," said Wood. "This is the best team Gryffindor's had in years. We're going to win, I know it."

He glared at them all as if to say, "Or else."

"Right. It's time. Good luck, all of you."

Harry followed Fred and George out of the locker room and, hoping his knees weren't going to give way, walked onto the field to loud cheers.

Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the field waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand.

"Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," she said, once they were all gathered around her. Harry noticed that she seemed to be speaking particularly to the Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint, a fifth year. Harry thought Flint looked as if he had some troll blood in him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the fluttering banner high above, flashing _Potter for President_ over the crowd. His heart skipped. He felt braver.

"Mount your brooms, please."

Harry clambered onto his Nimbus Two Thousand.

Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle.

Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off.

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor - what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too -"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry, Professor."

The Weasley twins' friend, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall.

"And she's really belting along up there, a near pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good friend of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve - back to Johnson and - no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes - Flint flying like an eagle up there - he's going to sc- no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle - that's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and - OUCH - that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger - the Quaffle is taken by the Slytherins - that's Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goalposts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger - sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which - nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes - she's really flying - dodges a speeding Bludger - the goalposts are ahead - come on, now, Angelina - Keeper Bletchly dives - misses - GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"

Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins.

Way up above the stands Harry saw as Hagrid joined his friends, noticeable due to the roaring banner and Draco and Ron's hair. Harry was gliding over the game, squinting about for some sign of the Snitch. This was part of his and Wood's game plan, for him to keep out of the way until he saw the Snitch.

When Angelina had scored, Harry had done a couple loop-the-loops to let off his feelings. He thought he caught sight of the Snitch, though it turned out to be one of the Weasley's watches, and he had to dodge a stray Bludger, though mostly he was just flying around looking for the Snitch.

"Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan was saying, "Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the - wait a moment - was that the Snitch?"

A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear.

"Harry Potter, youngest Seeker in a century and Gryffindor's newest player, dives for the Snitch, Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs close on his heels. Both Seekers are neck and neck - Potter puts on a burst of speed and - OUCH! Potter slams into Flint, who seemed to have blocked the young Seeker on purpose the cheating-"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry, Professor. Madam Hooch has called Flint over and seems to be reprimanding him for blocking Seeker Potter. The Snitch seems to have disappeared again," Jordan commented as the Gryffindor stands continued to yell foul.

Down in the stands, Dean Thomas was yelling, "Send him off, ref! Red card!"

"What are you talking about, Dean?" said Ron.

"Red card!" said Dean furiously. "In soccer, you get shown the red card and you're out of the game!"

"This isn't soccer, Dean," Draco reminded him.

Hagrid, however, was on Dean's side.

"They oughta change the rules. Flint coulda knocked Harry outta the air."

Lee Jordan was finding it hard not to take sides.

"So - after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating -"

"Jordan!" growled Professor McGonagall.

"I mean, after that open and revolting foul -"

" _Jordan, I'm warning you_ -"

"All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinnet who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue to play, Gryffindor still in possession."

Draco watched the game resume with a pinched mouth and his binoculars held firmly against his eyes, occasionally checking on Harry. His concern for his friend allowed him to catch the moment Harry dodged a dangerously close Bludger and the sudden, frightening lurch Harry's broom gave soon after.

"Did you see that?" asked Draco. He lowered his binoculars and looked at Ron and Hermione.

"See what, mate? Not all of us have fancy binoculars," said Ron, his eyes still locked on the jumble of red and green robes overhead. Hermione simply shrugged.

Draco raised his binoculars again searched the sky for Harry, who was only distinguishable from the rest of the Gryffindor players through his size. When Draco's binoculars landed on him he was clinging to his broom tightly with both his hands and knees as the broom lurched as though it was trying to buck him off. But the Nimbus Two Thousand did not suddenly decide to buck their riders off. Draco watched the broom and Harry and realized with a sickening lurch in his stomach that Harry had no control of the broom. It was zigzagging through the air, and every now and then making violent swishing movements that almost unseated the young Seeker.

Lee was still commenting.

"Slytherin in possession - Fling with the Quaffle - passes Spinnet - passes Bell - hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose - only joking, Professor - Slytherins score - oh no..."

The Slytherins were cheering which, along with the Gryffindors groans, masked Draco's shout of worry. No one else seemed to have noticed that Harry's broom was behaving strangely. It was carrying him slowly higher, away from the game, jerking and twitching as it went.

"Hagrid, look at Harry!" Draco said.

Hagrid raised his own binoculars and frowned at what he saw.

"Dunno what Harry thinks he's doing," Hagrid mumbled. He stared through his binoculars. "If I didn't know better, I'd say he'd lost control of his broom... but he can't have..."

Suddenly people were pointing up at Harry all over the stands. Draco quickly raised his binoculars again. Harry's broom had started to roll over and over, with him only just managing to hold on. Then the whole crowd gasped. Harry's broom had given a wild jerk and Harry swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand.

"Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?" Seamus whispered.

"It didn't start lurching like that until he dodged a Bludger," said Draco. "Do you think that could have done something?"

"Can't've been either," Hagrid said, his voice shaking. "Can't nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic - no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand."

At these words, Hermione seized Hagrid's binoculars, but instead of looking up at Harry, she started looking frantically at the crowd.

"What are you doing?" moaned Ron, gray-faced.

"I knew it," Hermione gasped, "Snape - look."

Ron grabbed the binoculars from Hermione as Draco swung his own to the teachers stands. Snape had his eyes fixed on Harry and was muttering nonstop under his breath. Draco felt his stomach drop.

"Oh no," Draco moaned.

"He's doing something - jinxing the broom," said Hermione.

"What should we do?" Ron asked.

"Leave it to me."

Before Ron or Draco could say another word, Hermione had disappeared.

"Ron, keep your binoculars on Harry, I'll watch Snape," Draco instructed, already raising his back to his eyes.

Ron trained the binoculars back on Harry. His broom was vibrating so hard, it was almost impossible for him to hang on much longer. The whole crowd was on its feet, watching, terrified, as the Weasleys flew up to try and pull Harry safely onto one of their brooms, but it was no good - every time they got near him, the broom would jump higher still. They dropped lower and circled beneath him, obviously hoping to catch him if he fell. Marcus Flint seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing.

"Come on, Hermione," Ron muttered desperately.

"Ron, I can see her," whispered Draco, having caught a glimpse of her bushy mane. "She's in the teachers stand, she just knocked over Professor Quirrell and now she's lighting Snape's robes on fire."

"What?" Ron exclaimed as he swung his binoculars over to Snape as Draco swung his over to Harry. Sure enough, his robes were slowly being engulfed by bright blue flames as the rest of the teachers hurried to try and put them out.

It was enough. Up in the air, Harry was suddenly able to clamber back on to his broom. Draco gave out a whoop of joy as his friend climbed back onto his broom.

"Nevile, you can look!" Ron said. Neville had been sobbing into Hagrid's jacket for the last five minutes.

Harry was speeding toward the ground when Draco and the rest of the crowd saw him clap his hand to his mouth as though he was about to be sick - he hit the field on all fours - coughed - and something gold fell into his hand.

"I've got the Snitch!" he shouted, waving it above his head, and the game ended in complete confusion.

"He caught the Snitch!" Draco shouted, dropping his binoculars around his neck and throwing his arms around Ron and Hermione as she retook her seat.

The trio raced down the stands, shoving their way past excited Gryffindors, as they fought toward the pitch. As soon as they saw him, the friends launched themselves at Harry and began congratulating him and fussing over him in the same breath.

"He didn't _catch_ it, he nearly _swallowed_ it," Flint was still howling twenty minutes later, but it made no difference - Harry hadn't broken any rules and Lee Jordan was still happily shouting the results - Gryffindor had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty. Harry heard none of this, though. He was being made a strong tea back in Hagrid's hut, with Draco, Ron, and Hermione.

"I was Snape," Ron was explaining, "we saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you."

"Rubbish," said Hagrid, who hadn't heard a word of what had gone on next to him in the stands. "Why would Snape do somethin' like that?"

Draco bite his lip as he and the others looked at one another, each of them wondering what to tell him. Harry decided on the truth.

"I found out something about him," he told Hagrid. "He tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween. It bit him. We think he was trying to steal whatever it's guarding."

Hagrid dropped his teapot.

"How do you know about Fluffy?" he said.

"You named it _Fluffy_?" Draco exclaimed.

"Yeah, bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year - I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the -"

"Yes?" said Harry eagerly.

"Now, don't ask me anymore," said Hagrid gruffly. "That's top secret stuff, that is."

"But Snape's trying to _steal_ it," Harry insisted.

"Rubbish," said Hagrid again. "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do nothin' of the sort."

"So why did he just try to kill Harry?" cried Hermione.

The afternoon's events certainly seemed to have changed her mind about Snape.

"I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid, I've read all about them! You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw him!"

"When he stopped looking, Harry's broom stopped trying to buck him off," Draco added, still biting his lip and occasionally glancing at Harry.

"I'm tellin' yeh, yet wrong!" said Hagrid hotly. "I don't know why Harry's broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn' try an' kill a student! Now, listen to me, all four of yeh - yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel -"

"Aha!" said Harry, "so there's someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?"

Hagrid looked furious with himself.

"I shouldn' have told yeh that," he muttered. "Get on back to the castle now, it's late. An' stop thinkin' about what Fluffy's guardin'!"

The four reluctantly left and began the trudge up to the castle. Hermione and Ron immediately got into an argument about something as Draco and Harry hung back.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Draco asked, glancing at the darker-skinned boy. Harry shrugged and pushed his glasses up.

"Bit shaken, I guess. Mostly I'm happy I didn't lose my glasses, I don't think the Dursley's would've gotten me a new pair if I had. What do you think Fluffy's guarding, and why does Snape want it so bad?"

"I don't know," Draco answered.

"Do you know why he hates me so much?" Harry asked suddenly, shoving his hands into his pockets. Draco glanced over at him and sighed.

"Well, I think I remember overhearing something about him and your dad not getting along. They were in the same year, along with your mum."

"But why does he hate _me_?"

Draco bit his lip again and glanced over at Harry. They had reached the moving staircases by then. Hermione and Ron were still arguing, though the subject may have changed. Draco glanced at the two before turning back to Harry.

"Can we talk about it in the dorm?"

Harry nodded and followed his friends off the moving staircase. Hermione led them through the portrait and into the common room.

"Hey, Hermione, do you want to join us in our dorm?" Harry asked before Hermione could climb the stairs to the girl's dorm.

Once in the dorm the three boys took seats on their beds, Hermione taking the empty bed next to the bathroom.

Harry looked over at Draco, expecting him to say something. As Harry watched, Draco screwed up his face and straightened his back. The blond took a deep breath.

"Professor Snape is a Death Eater," he said - as if it were a simple fact of life.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron stared at Draco as if he had just said that his father was Voldemort.

"Draco, you can't just go around accusing people of being," Hermione looked around and lowered her voice, " _Death Eaters_."

"I'm not accusing anyone, _Hermione_ ," Draco hissed, "I saw his Dark Mark."

"When?" Ron asked.

"How?" Hermione added.

"Sev- er, Snape is my godfather. He was at the Manor over the summer, tutoring me in Potions so I would be prepared for Hogwarts, and he had rolled up his sleeve. I caught a glimpse of his mark - it's a bright red snake and skull. My- my father has one too," Draco looked at his hands.

"So, what does that mean?" Harry asked.

"It means Snape has motive," Hermione answered. "It explains why he hates you so much! You're the Boy Who Lived, Harry, you defeated You-Know-Who, any Death Eater would hold a grudge."

"Then why hasn't he just killed me? He's had plenty of chances for it," Harry asked.

"Because of Dumbledore," Draco answered.

"That's right, Snape would never dare do anything with Dumbledore around," Hermione agreed.

"Even You-Know-Who was scared of him, Snape's got no chance," Ron added.

Harry wasn't sure if he felt better, but he thanked them none the less.

Later, as he was laying in bed trying to sleep, Harry couldn't help but think about all the mysteries of his life. Why did Voldemort try to kill him? Why did Dumbledore send him to live with the Dursleys? Why did everyone get weird around him when they talked about Sirius Black? Harry didn't know the answers to any of those questions, but he was determined to answer the one that was circling his head the most. What was Fluffy guarding?


End file.
